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LUTHtR    B.    ANTHONY 


The 
DRAMA  TIST 


A  Journal  of  Dramatic 
Technology 


Bdit«d  hj 

LUTHER  B.  ANTHONY 


Vols.  I  II  and  III 


THE.  DRAMATIST  CO. 

EASTON.  PENNA. 


Copgright  1912 
Luther  B.  ylnthonp 


Index 


A  Gentleman  From  Mississippi 

90. 

*A  Guide  to  Pictures 

267 

A  Maker  of  Men            .... 

89 

A  Man  of  Honor            .... 

196 

American  Playgoers       .... 

228 

American  Playgoers       .... 

269 

A  Million                .... 

200 

*A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts 

226- 

A  Play  in  the  Pulpit 

244 

A  Single  Man        .... 

216 

Alias  Jimmy  Valentine 

43 

■•!=An  Englishman's  Home 

33.: 

Another  Declaration  of  Independence 

3 

*Arizona        ..... 

2535 

As  a  Man  Thinks 

142' 

A  Specimen  Criticism  of  an  Amateur  ] 

'lay 

108; 

Baby  Mine    ..... 

129, 

Belasco  on  Technique 

93 

Bobby  Burnit        .... 

101 

Bought  and  Paid  For 

214. 

Bunty  Pulls  the  Strings 

255 

Cameo  Kirby         .... 

xd6 

♦Candida 

164. 

Chair  of  Dramatic  Writing 

35 

Dear  Old  Billy       .... 

172, 

♦Disraeli                 .... 

241- 

*Don               

155' 

*Double  Cross       .... 

20B. 

Drifting 

^52; 

Electricity             .... 

1^9^ 

Elevating  a  Husband 

237 

*Embers 

223 

Enchained 

55 

Enchained  (In  three  Acts) 

58. 

Enchained   (Revision) 

13&. 

Enduring  Success 

233 

Excuse  Me             .... 

iBB- 

♦Facing  Death  (in  one  Act) 

123 

Facing  Death  (analyzed) 

185 

Facing  Death  (Reconstruction) 

207* 

♦Footlights  Fore  and  Aft 

248  ; 

♦Fritzchen               .... 

15^* 

♦From  Ibsen's  Workshop 

248s 

Get  Rich  Quick  V/allingford 

US'. 

♦Getting  Married 

203 

Green  Stockings 

239  ; 

Hervieu's  Reply  to  Our  Criticism 

95 

*Ecw  He  Lied  to  Her  Hu.sband 

31  ■• 

♦Husband 

124 

Inconstant  George 

49 

♦Interviewed          .         .         .         . 

138 

Is  Matrimony  a  Failure 

2 

Israel              

16 

Just  a  Wife          .         .         .         . 

37 

♦Justice          .         .         .         .         . 

12a 

Kindling 

242 

♦Lady  Patricia       .         .         .         . 

244 

Leah  Kleschna 

134 

Letter  from  Charles  Rann  Keaned 

y      • 

250 

♦Lovely  Peggy 

225 

Madame  X             .         .         .         . 

«i7 

Maggie  Pepper 

200 

Managers  Hunting  Feverishly  for 

Plays 

II 

♦Margot 

3<» 

♦Mary  Magdalene 

121 

♦Maternity             .         .         .         . 

203 

♦Mid-Channel 

205 

Mother           .... 

97 

Mrs.  Bumstead-Leigh 

169 

Mrs.  Dot       . 

89 

Natural-Bomness 

4 

New  Plays    .... 

I 

Nobody's  Daughter 

150 

Nobody's  Widow 

131 

Oiir  Doctrines  Endorsed 

209 

Our  Third  Year 

189 

Paid  in  FuU 

*4 

The  Thief     .... 

24 

Passers-By 

212 

♦Play-Making 

268 

Plays  of  the  New  Seasoa 

93 

Playwriting 

140 

♦Preserving  Mr.  Paamxire 

256 

Putting  It  Over 

260 

Reading  of  Plays 

167 

Rebecca  of  Sunnybrook  Fann 

130 

6alvatioB  NeU 

50 

Samuel  Johnson,  Playwright 

3 

Seven  Days 

15 

Seven  Days 

222 

Shore  Acres 

222 

Snobs             .         .         ^         . 

198 

gpeed             .... 

191 

*Suderman's  One-Act  Plays 

29 

♦Streaks  of  Light 

29 

SuJniurun       .... 

238 

Technical  Tendeacies 

141 

*Technique  of  the  Drama 

266 

*The  American  Dramatist 

248 

*The  Appreciation  of  the  Drama 

267 

The  Arab 

191 

The  Barrier 

48 

The  Boss 

143 

The  Call  of  the  WU4 

135 

"the  City 

39 

Tlie  Climax 

I 

"♦The  Climbers 

263 

The  Cobum  Players 

269 

The  Commanding  Officer 

13 

TKft  Commuters 

102 

The  Concert           .... 

150 

The  Confession 

220 

The  Cottage  in  the  Air 

12 

The  Country  Boy 

99 

*The  Dark  Lady  of  the  Sonnets 

151 

The  Deep  Purple 

148 

The  Deserters       .... 

108 

*The  Doctor's  Dilemma 

202 

*The  Faith  Healer 

33 

The  Family 

126 

*The  Farav.'ay  Princess 

30 

The  Fatted  Calf 

247 

The  Fire  Commissioner 

137 

The  Fortune  Hunter 

20 

*Theft 

156 

The  Gamblers        .... 

123 

The  Girl  He  Couldn't  Leave  Behind  Hin 

1 

91 

*The  Goddess  of  Reason 

31 

The  Governor's  Lady 

253 

The  Greyhound      .... 

256 

The  Harvest  Moon 

21 

The  Havoc             .... 

145 

•^The  Home  Thru.st 

262 

*The  House  Next  Door 

261 

The  Intellectual  Dramatist 

7 

*The  Last  Visit 

30 

The  Lily 

45 

The  Littlest  Rebel 

220 

The  Man  VvTio  Stood  Still 

52 

The  Marionettes 

236 

The  Melting  Pot            ... 

23 

The  Model              .... 

252 

The  Nest  Egg        .... 

199 

*The  Nigger           .... 

161 

The  1909  Record 

II 

The  Only  Son        .... 

218 

The  Pearl               .... 

229 

The  Pearl  (Revision) 

248 

The  Pearl  (Fourth  Revision) 

269 

*The  Playboy  of  the  Western  World 

224 

The  Price               .... 

215 

The  Province  of  Analysis 

"3 

The  Rack                .... 

194 

The  Rainbow         .... 

245 

The  Real  Thing 

197 

The  Return  of  Eve 

27 

The  Return  of  Peter  Grimm 

210 

The   Ringmaster 

2 

*The  Servant  in  the  House 

234 

*The  Showing  Up  of  Blanco  Posnet 

203 

*The  Silver  Box 

158 

The   Spendthrift 

105 

The  Squaw  Man 

133 

The   Talker            .... 

257 

*The  Terrible  Meek 

235 

The  Test 

120 

*The  Thunderbolt 

"5 

The  Trail  of  the  Lonesome  Pine 

240 

The  Turning  Point 

41 

The  Twelve  Pound  Look 

147 

^=The  Unequal  Triangle 

243 

The  Unwritten  Law 

265 

♦The  Voysey  Inheritance 

258 

The  Wife  Decides 

2ig 

The  Witness  for  the  Defense 

193 

The  Woman 

190 

The  Woman  Pays 

15 

*The  V/oman  With  the  Dagger 

264 

*The  World  and  His  Wife 

170 

*Three  Plays  by  Brieux 

203 

*Three  Plays  by  Shaw 

202 

Three  Books  for  Playbuilders 

247 

Thy  Neighbor's  Wife 

192 

*Titles  from  Shakespeare 

226 

Two  Theatrical  Seasons  Compared 

92 

Two  Theatrical  Seasons  Compared 

188 

Two  Women 

154 

U.  S.  Minister  Bedloe 

147 

*Waste          .... 

259 

What  is  Technic? 

251 

"World"  Prize  Play 

53 

"World"  Prize  Play  Award 

108 

Your  Humble  Servant  . 

17 

*The  asterisk  indicates  that  the  work  is  published. 


Index  to  Vlots 


A  Comedy 

279 

A  Double  Suicide 

276 

A  Gauntlet 

280 

Alias  Jimmy  Valentine 

277 

Alice  Sit  by  the  Fire 

278 

Anna  of  Tharau 

274 

Article  47 

279 

A  Visit          .         .         .         . 

282 

Beyond  Their  Strength 

281 

Bought  and  Paid  For 

282 

Bread 

274 

Brides  of  Arrogonia 

278 

Cinderella 

279 

Colleen  Bawn 

282 

Damon  and  Pythias 

277 

Israel 

280 

Laboremus 

281 

London  Assurance 

282 

Lysistrata 

277 

Madame  X 

280 

Philip  II 

274 

Richelieu 

283 

Sampson 

280 

Sauce  for  the  Goose 

282 

Stained  Honor 

276 

Struensce 

278 

The  Acharians 

276 

The  Admirable  Crichton 

277 

The  Cave  Man 

283 

The  Dangerous  Aunt 

The  Deep  Purple 

The  King 

The  Lady  of  Lyons 

The  Lily 

The  Mistress  of  St.  Tropez 

The  Newly-Weds 

The  Pariah 

The  Perjurer 

The  Priest  of  Churchfield 

The  Return  of  Peter  Grimm 

The  Thatcher 

To-day  and  Yesterday 

The  Ugliest  of  Seven 

Zaza 


274 
277 
281 
282 
279 

275 
281 
278 

275 
276 
279 
275 
281 

275 
280 


Introduction 

If  there  is  one  principle  of  playrighting  that 
We  haVe  insisted  upon  in  these  pages  more  than 
all  others,  it  is  that  the  audience  KNOW.  In  the 
closing  quarter  of  this  year  of  our  Lord  1912  We 
are  still  Quite  alone  in  this  contention.  Complete 
ignorance  on  the  part  of  the  audience  can  onlp 
result  in  negative  interest:  surprise.  Surprise  is 
the  tool  of  the  fiction  Writer.  Knowledge  or  ex^ 
pectation  in  some  degree  is  the  indispensible  con- 
dition  for  generating  suspense.  If  you,  dear  stu= 
dent,  cannot  grasp  this  subtle  dramatic  laW  at  the 
outset.  We  ask  that  you  take  it  on  faith,  as  most 
of  our  icnoWledge  is  accepted,  until  its  inevitable 
operation  can  be  Verified. 

There  is  one  other  ingredient  that  We  contin^ 
ually  cry  for:  Conflict.  Conflict  is  a  character 
creator  in  tWo  senses.  In  life  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  acquiring  character  Without  conflict.  In 
drama  there  is  no  illusion  of  character  possible 
Without  a  stage  Conflict  to  mold  it  in  Conflict 
is  the  die  that  casts  character.  And  this  is  the 
secret  of  the  salutary  poWer  of  drama.  Of  all 
moral  instruction  it  is  the  most  eflectual.  A 
gripping  play  is  the  nearest  substitute  for  the 
actual  character'Creating  process  of  life. 

Zf.  ^«  */^. 
Easton,  Va. 
October,  1912 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER  B. 

ANTHONY, 

£.ditor 

Vol. 

I 

EASTON,  PA. 

No. 

1 

QUARTERLY 

1909 

OCTOBER 

New  "Plates 


Karken  to  the  parable  of  the  press  agent  and  you  would  be 
persuaded  that  the  author  of  this  remarkable  Play  was  only 
yesterday  a  Pittsburg  glass-blower.  In  reality,  Mr.  Edward 
Locke,  like  all  other  arrivals  in  stageland,  is  a  graduate  of  the 
University  of  Hard  Knocks.  He  has  learned  technic 
through  repeated  failures  and  from  years  of  experience  as 
actor  and  newspaper  man.  The  unrivaled  triumph  of  his  first 
great  play  lies  in  its  elemental  simplicity  of  direct  appeal  to 
the  sympathies  of  every-day  people.  This  characteristic  per- 
meates the  plot  which  is  set  forth  in  but  three  acts,  the  cast 
which  involves  only  four  people  and  introduces  them  in  the 
first  five  minutes  of  the  Play,  the  stage  setting  which  requires 
but  one  set  scene  and  the  theme  which  is  approximately  con- 
fined to  its  legitimate  circumference.  The  Play  abounds  in 
minor  fiaws  and  elements  foreign  to  the  structure  and  the 
"Climax"  when  reached  is  merely  talked  into  the  audience  in- 
stead of  coming  out  of  dramatic  invention.  The  rascal  who 
has  tricked  a  girl  into  marriage  calmly  relates  his  unscrupu- 
lousness  instead  of  being  detected  in  a  truly  dramatic  manner 
and  the  effort  to  reconcile  the  girl  to  such  treachery  on  the 
plea  that  this  rascal's  half-hearted  love  has  matured  certain 
tone  qualities  in  her  voice  is  the  merest  apology  for  plot! 
What  is  the  theme  of  the  Play.'  Seeking  a  wife  through  dis- 
honest means !  Can  there  be  but  one  answer  to  this  proposi- 
tion? The  play  leaves  the  verdict  to  the  audience.  Drama 
must  be  definite  or  it  is  not  Drama.  The  logical  end  and  cli- 
max of  this  Play  is  reached  when  this  rascal  is  exposed,  and  the 
girl's  voice  is  recovered.  The  only  word  for  him  is:  "Beat  it!" 
If  our  theme  dealt  with  this  girl's  love  for  this  man  we  might 
finish  with  some  solution  of  love  but  in  no  sense  is  her  love  es- 
tablished and  any  attempt  to  make  it  a  part  of  the  play  is  sim- 
ply a  departure  from  the  immutable  limits  of  the  given  theme 
and  a  step  toward  the  construction  of  a  distinct  and  separate 
plot.  Love  is  not  a  factor  in  this  play  and  cannot  be  spliced 
onto  it!  The  framework  of  "The  Climax"  is  ideal  structure 
for  a  play.  The  acts  are  ideal  divisions  of  the  material.  They 
define  the  Beginning,  the  middle  and  end  of  a  completed  ac- 
tion in  a  very  skillful  way.    The  blending  of  plot  theme  with 


The  DRAMATIST 

melody  theme  is  a  master  stroke  and  the  Play  deserves  its 
place  in  the  ranks,  far  to  the  front ! 

IS    MATRIMONY    A    FAILURE 
A  Successful  Adaptation. 

There  is  one  peculiarity  about  this  work  by  Mr.  Leo  Die- 
trichstein  that  deserves  a  word  of  comment  and  com.menda- 
tion.  Out  of  a  reigning  Berlin  success  this  author  has  made  an 
American  comedy !  It  sounds  impossible,  perhaps,  but  he  has 
done  his  work  with  rare  skill,  transposing  atmosphere,  collo- 
quialisms and  character. 

Unlike  most  adaptations  the  work  is  clean  and  free  from 
the  odor  of  vulgarity.  But  the  point  that  is  of  value  to  the 
aspiring  dramatists  of  this  country  is  the  fact  that  here  is  a 
triumph  as  a  result  of  the  strenuous  study  of  technic  without 
the  aid  of  inventive  genius  required  to  construct  an  original 
Play. 

This  should  be  a  source  of  hope  and  inspiration  to  the  Dra- 
matist who  feels  after  repeated  attempts  that  he  does  not  pos- 
sess the  required  degree  of  creative  imagination.  There  is  a 
wide  chance  in  the  field  of  adaptation  and  dram^atization  for 
utilizing  the  fancy  of  others.  But  the  one  ever  necessary  re- 
quisite is — Technical  skill !  If  you  cannot  be  a  Fitch  be  a  Die- 
trichstein ! 

THE    RINGMASTER. 

The  season  thus  far  has  not  brought  forth  any  plays  re- 
markable for  their  technical  merit  such  as  "The  Easiest  Way" 
and  "The  Clim.ax"  of  last  year  but  we  call  attention  to  "The 
Ringmaster"  more  for  its  want  of  technic,  the  negative 
study  often  being  a  more  potent  lesson  than  the  ideal  drama. 

Here  we  have  the  making  of  a  bully  good  play  with  a  cou- 
ple of  well  built  scenes  but  encumbered  by  the  traditional  de- 
sire to  "ring  in"  an  abundance  of  sentiment  and  comedy.  For 
this  purpose  the  author  calls  into  existence  a  sister  of  the 
Ringmaster  who  does  a  wireless,  sea-sick,  champagne  stunt 
just  to  delay  the  principal  action  of  the  Play;  and  a  pair  of 
juvenile  lovers  whose  vicissitudes  belong  to  a  skit  for  the 
vaudeville  stage  and  not  in  "The  Ringmaster." 

For  want  of  Scene  Units  in  the  structure  a  superfluity  of 
characters  is  mortgaged  onto  the  production  and  Drama  sleeps 
while  these  useless  accessories  apologize  for  their  intrusion. 
There  is  a  good  scene  where  the  daughter  unconsciously  de- 
nounces the  unscrupulous  business  methods  of  her  father,  the 
Ringmaster  of  Wall  Street,  in  accusing  the  innocent  party  of 
the  crimes  actually  committed  by  her  parent. 


The  DRAMATIST 

Without  a  doubt  the  Play  for  need  of  skillful  technical 
treatment.  It  smacks  of  the  old  school  of  double  stories  and 
bi-plots  and  fails  to  conform  to  the  new  type  of  Drama  so 
clearly  defined  in  recent  successes. 

SAMUEL    JOHNSON,    PLAYWRIGHT. 

David  Garrick  and  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  were  warm  friends. 
Johnson  could  write  a  dictionary  but  not  a  Play.  After  a  futile 
attempt  to  stage  "Irene,"  a  tragedy  especially  written  for  the 
actor,  Garrick  made  the  following  allusion:  "When  Johnson 
writes  Drama,  declamation  roars  whilst  passion  sleeps.  When 
Shakespeare  wrote  he  dipned  his  pen  in  the  blood  of  human- 
ity." 

Will  some  one  kindly  tell  us  why  the  author  of  a  gem  like 
"Rasselas"  could  not  write  Drama?  Was  it  because  he  tried 
to  write  it  and  not  build  it?  Shakespeare  studied  Play  build- 
ing along  with  stage  building!  As  an  actor  he  acquired  the 
Dramatic  conscience  which  is  invaluable  to  the  dramatist.  If 
Johnson  could  have  said  to  Garrick:  "David,  teach  me  what 
you  know  about  the  laws  of  dramatic  construction,"  doubtless 
the  two  might  have  made  a  fair  play  of  "Irene."  But  Garrick 
was  Johnson's  pupil  to  begin  with  and  the  writer  of  dictiona- 
ries was  not  a  man  to  be  taught ! 

Lytton-Bulwer,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a  similar  experience 
with  Macready,  the  famous  actor-manager,  and  profited  by 
the  association  and  advice  of  an  expert  in  stagecraft.  Although 
a  noted  writer  of  the  narrative  class  of  composition  Bulwer 
failed  utterly  in  his  early  attempt  at  playwriting.  "The 
Duchess  de  la  Vailliere."  Critics  declared  that  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  attain  the  Art  of  dramatic  construction  and  the- 
atrical effect.  Macready  came  to  the  rescue !  It  was  a  union 
of  imagination  and  craft.  Macready  wrought  wonders  in  the 
re-shaping  of  Bulwer's  plays  and  his  next  offering,  "The  Lady 
of  Lyons,"  is  a  sample  of  what  "Rasselas"  might  have  been 
had  Johnson  yielded  to  the  same  available  expedient. 

ANOTHER     DECLARATION     OF 
INDEPENDENCE 
John  Bull  Backing  American  Play  Builders. 
The  Progressive  Play  Producing  Association  is  the  name 
of  a  co-operative  company  being  formed  for  the  purpose  of 
producing  N.  Y.  successes  in  London  and  the  EngHsh   Pro- 
vinces.    The  tide  has  turned,  my  brother!     American  mana- 
gers are  no  longer  dependent  upon  European  dram.atists  for 
high-class  plays!    The  success  of  Henry  E.  Dixey's  "The  Man 
on  the  Box"  and  of  James  Forbes'  "The  Chorus  Lady,"  re- 
cently produced  in  London  are  practical  proof  of  the  drift  dra- 
matic tides  have  taken.    Here  is  a  double  source  of  income  for 


DRAM 


the  Playwright.  Pinero,  Barrie  and  Jones  have  long  reaped 
a  Yankee  harvest — Johnnie  Bull  must  now  pay  toll  for  Uncle 
Sam's  attractions! 


NATURAL-BORNNESS 

The  following  article  is  written  by  Arthur  F.  Sheldon,  who 
calls  his  great  institution  "A  School  of  Scientific  Salesman- 
ship." It  is  virtually  a  University  of  Character  Construction 
formulating  the  Science  of  SELF — A  study  of  infinite  value  to 
the  dramatist  who  also  is  a  salesman,  or  should  be ! 

One  good  thing  about  those  of  this  class  who  are  truly 
great  is  their  progressiveness.  They  recognize  the  fact  that 
"the  world  do  move"  and  they  move  right  along  with  it.  They 
see  clearly  that  no  one  is  so  great  that  he  cannot  become 
greater.  They  realize  that  knowledge  is  power  and  they  grasp 
every  opportunity  to  add  to  their  store  of  knowledge,  both 
general  and  specific. 

"They  acquire  all  the  general  knowledge  possible  because 
they  know  that  the  broader  their  range  of  knowledge,  the  bet- 
ter can  they  appeal  to,  and  put  themselves  in  tune  with,  the 
vastly  varied  degrees  of  intelligence  and  types  of  human  na- 
ture with  which  they  come  in  contact. 

"They  recognize  quickly  the  value  of  all  specific  knowledge 
pertaining  to  their  own  special  business  of  salesmanship,  for 
they  realize  the  fact  that  their  business  is  a  science  and  the 
practice  of  it  a  profession. 

"But  there  are  dangers  in  being  a  *natural-born.'  The  in- 
centive for  work,  application  and  perseverance  is  largely  taken 
aw^ay  from  the  man  who  inherits  a  fortune,  whether  it  be  in 
money  or  natural  gifts  of  qualities. 

"He  comes  to  rely  so  thoroughly  upon  natural  gifts  that  he 
does  not  go  ahead  in  the  work  of  self-development,  and  he 
leans  so  hard  upon  those  natural  gifts  that  he  sometimes  wears 
them  out  or  breaks  them  down.  He  comes  to  a  point  pretty 
soon  where  his  natural  gifts  will  not  keep  him  going  ahead, 
and  then  he  commences  going  backward,  for  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  standing  still. 

"J.  I.  C,  Maud  S.,  Sunol,  Pink  Coat,  Wyeth  and  Lou  Dil- 
lon were  all  'natural-born'  trotters,  runners  or  pacers,  but  sup- 
pose their  owners  had  rested  content  with  their  good  breeding, 
their  pedigrees,  their  *natural-born-ness,'  and  had  not  em- 
ployed scientific  trainers  to  develop  their  speed,  do  you  sup- 
pose they  would  have  broken  world's  records  and  won  great 
races?  Not  at  all.  Horses  that  were  not  so  v/ell  blessed  in 
their  'horning,'  as  the  old  lady  said,  but  who  got  down  to  earth 
and  worked  hard  would  have  made  them  go  way  back  in  the 
stable  or  pasture  and  lie  down.    Don't  you  think  so? 


The  DRAMATIST 

"Now  let  us  go  back  to  mother  earth  for  an  illustration. 
The  richest  natural  soil  will  not  produce  its  richest  harvests 
except  by  cultivation.  If  left  alone  as  nature  made  it,  its 
owner  will  not  continue  to  reap  abundantly  unless  he  tends, 
cultivates,  enriches  and  develops  it.  Without  scientific  care, 
it  will  soon  lose  its  strength  and  begin  to  go  backward.  With 
that  care,  its  productiveness  is  ever  on  the  increase. 

"And  to  come  to  man  in  the  line  of  intellectual  effort.  Lord 
Byron  was  without  question  a  natural-bom  poet.  But  do  you 
suppose  his  name  would  now  be  written  among  the  immortals 
had  he  not  cultivated  the  talents  which  nature  gave  him?  At 
fifteen  years  of  age  he  had  studied  and  largely  digested  some 
1,500  volumes.  He  became  the  master  of  many  languages. 
He  enriched  his  mind.  He  recognized  that  knowledge  was 
power.  He  cultivated  his  natural  gifts.  He  developed  them, 
and  he  became  truly  great  and  left  a  lasting  fame. 

"And  so  we  might  go  on  and  on  with  illustrations  without 
end,  to  show  how  unwise,  how  dangerous,  how  absolutely 
foolish  it  is  to  neglect  natural  gifts.  They  are  but  the  founda- 
tion upon  which  to  build.  They  should  be  honored  and  rever- 
enced and  cared  for  as  precious  gifts,  and  the  possessor  of 
them  should  bestow  upon  them  his  tenderest  care. 

"I  hope  you  see  clearly,  therefore,  that  I  in  no  way  belittle 
the  fact  and  the  value  of  natural  gifts ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  want  you  to  see  clearly  how  foolish  it  is  to  make  the  claim 
that  because  one  is  bom  that  way  he  cannot  become  stronger 
by  scientific  cultivation. 

"And  now  I  want  you  to  see  just  as  clearly  the  fact  that  it 
is  just  as  foolish  to  say  that  unless  one  is  a  'natural-born  sales- 
man' he  can  never  become  a  great  salesman. 

"Listen  to  me  now  while  I  tell  you  the  truth.  I  would 
rather  undertake  to  make  a  great  salesman  out  of  one  who 
was  not  bom  with  great  natural  gifts  in  that  direction  than  to 
undertake  to  make  a  truly  great  salesman  out  of  one  with 
those  natural  gifts  who  is  not  progressive  enough  to  see  the 
importance  of  cultivating  and  developing  those  natural  gifts. 

"Do  you  see  clearly  what  I  mean?  It,  in  one  sense,  is  the 
old  case  of  the  tortoise  and  the  hare.  The  hare,  depending 
upon  his  natural  fleetness,  went  to  sleep ;  but  the  tortoise  kept 
on  trying,  plugged  right  along,  and  beat  Mr.  Hare  out  in  the 
race. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  mother  earth  for  another  illustration. 
Were  you  ever  out  in  Colorado  or  Wyoming  or  any  of  those 
districts  that  are,  or  were,  arid  wastes,  with  a  soil  in  which 
nothing  good  would  grow?  If  you  have  been  there,  you  have 
seen  here  a  strip  of  that  barren  land  upon  which  nothing  good 
is  growing,  and  there  by  its  side  a  soil  once  just  like  it  in  every 
respect,  which  is  now  yielding  in  most  bountiful  abundance. 


The  D       RAMATIST 

"The  natural  elements  of  great  abundance  were  there  all 
the  time,  and  had  been  for  ages ;  all  that  land  needed  was  the 
application  of  scientific  irrigation  and  cultivation  in  order  to 
develop  its  productiveness. 

"And  did  you  ever  see  the  little  old  gnarled  crab-apple  tree, 
with  its  sour  and  bitter  fruit,  and  counted  by  the  farmer  a  fail- 
ure? And  have  you  seen  some  one  come  along  who  under- 
stood that  nature  could  be  assisted  by  grafting  a  sprout  of  use- 
ful fruit  upon  its  body  or  one  of  its  limbs?  Have  you  watched 
that  sprout  grow  and  its  fruit  ripen  into  the  luscious  Pippin  or 
Baldwin  or  some  ether  fine  apple  that  made  our  hearts  glad 
and  our  mouths  water  when  we  were  boys?  Oh!  Nature 
teaches  us  lots  of  lessons  if  we  will  only  look  and  listen  and 
believe. 

"And  now  let  us  come  to  man,  the  highest  type  of  creation 
and  the  only  creature  blessed  with  reason. 

"Because  he  was  bom  a  certain  way,  must  he  always  re- 
main in  that  natural  state?  Is  he  the  only  one  of  nature's  pro- 
ductions which  is  chained  by  environment  and  natural  condi- 
tions? Is  he  a  slave  to  inherited  traits?  No!  No!  If  he  will 
but  use  his  greatest  gift,  the  one  so  great  that  God  gave  it  to 
none  but  him — reason,  pure,  reason,  I  mean — he  can  break  the 
strongest  chains  that  bind ;  he  can  change  the  most  barren  soil 
and  can  make  it  produce  what  harvest  and  what  fruit  he  wills 
it  to  produce. 

"Millions  have  been  sleeping  long  enough.  The  night  of 
misunderstanding  of  their  own  possibilities  has  been  long 
enough.  The  day  of  truth  is  here,  and  it's  time  to  wake  up. 
Wake!  O  man,  and  know  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  be- 
come what  you  will. 

"And  now  let  me  tell  you  what  it  seems  to  me  is  one  of  the 
drugs  which  has  caused  so  many  to  sleep  so  long  in  utter  un- 
consciousness of  their  own  possibilities  of  development.  It  is 
the  fact  of  the  world's  accepting  as  facts  many  things  that  are 
nothing  more  than  falsehoods.  And  the  one  who  first  gave 
utterance  to  statements  concerning  man's  inability  to  outgrow 
unfavorable  'natural-born-ness'  may  have  been  either  an  hon- 
est man  who  made  a  mistake,  or  an  insincere  man  who  was 
trying  to  say  something  smart. 

"Some  one,  generations  ago,  said  something  that  sounded 
all  right.  The  world  liked  it  and  handed  it  down  to  the  next 
generation,  which  passed  it  along  to  its  children,  who  passed 
it  along  to  the  next  generation,  which  assimilated  it,  until  it 
finally  became  a  part  of  the  human  race  and  was  accepted  uni- 
versally as  the  truth,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  all  the 
time  'a  lie,  and  the  truth  abode  not  in  it.'  It  has  been  a  drug 
of  misunderstanding  all  this  time,  deadening  the  senses  and 
narrowing  the  possibilities  of  millions  of  human  beings. 


The  DRAMATIST 

"It  continues  to  do  its  deadening  work  until  the  X-ray  of 
concentrated  thought  comes  along  and  reveals  its  true  nature, 
and  then  the  world  first  laughs  and  scoffs  and  jeers  at  the 
voice  of  truth;  then  it  listens,  and  pretty  soon  it  says:  'Why, 
yes,  of  course,  I  always  knew  that  old  fogy  statement  was 
false.'  And  then  everybody  hurries  up  to  get  into  the  band 
wagon  of  truth,  while  the  band  of  enlightenment  plays  the 
march  of  progress. 

"The  old  statement  and  belief  that  the  world  was  flat  was 
handed  down  this  way  for  ages,  and  everybody  believed  it. 
There  are  races  today  which  bow  down  to  and  worship  wooden 
gods  and  tell  their  children  it  is  true  and  right  for  them  to  so 
worship;  that  their  pleasure  will  bless  and  their  wrath  will 
curse ;  and  the  children  believe  it  and  hand  this  lie  on  down  to 
their  children.  And  so  do  false  ideas  of  religion  and  mistakes 
in  every  line  of  thought  dam — and  damn — the  current  of  prog- 
ress, until  the  discernment  and  courage  of  truth  points  the  way 
to  better  things.  Those  who  are  bold  enough  to  smash  the 
graven  images  of  falsehood  and  error  do  the  world  good. 

"Did  you  know  that  Swoboda  and  Sandow,  two  of  the 
strongest  men  in  the  world  today  physically,  were  born  weak- 
lings? Ah,  but  you  say,  that's  a  different  thing.  You  can  de- 
velop muscle  by  certain  methods  but  you  cannot  develop  those 
mental,  moral  and  spiritual  qualities  which  go  to  make  certain 
characteristics. 

"But  please  do  not  make  such  a  statement,  my  good  friend, 
until  you  have  looked  into  modem  science  as  applied  to  char- 
acter building.  If  you  will  reserve  your  judgment  until  you 
look  into  that,  you  will  never  make  the  mistake  of  counting 
yourself  so  weak  and  powerless  as  all  that. 

"Blessed  with  reason,  the  greatest  gift  of  God  to  man, 
backed  up  by  real  desire  to  do  and  be,  reinforced  by  the  cour- 
age which  makes  you  dare  to  try,  and  with  the  energy  w^hich 
puts  all  these  to  the  test  of  application  and  perseverance,  you 
are  absolutely  the  architect  of  your  own  future;  the  actual 
builder  of  your  own  self;  and  you  can  build  as  you  will,  and 
will  realize  that  verily  the  reason  most  men  do  not  accomplish 
more  is  because  they  do  not  attempt  more." 

THE     INTELLECTUAL     DRAMATIST. 
Ibsen,  Klein  and  Others. 

Schopenhauer  told  us  that  simplicity  was  a  mark  of  truth — 
of  Genius !  And  warned  the  writer  against  a  manifest  endea- 
vor to  exhibit  more  intellect  than  he  possessed!  The  romantic 
nature  in  many  persons  leads  them  to  soar  above  the  common 
herd  into  the  realm  of  the  muses  little  knowing  that  such 
flights  betray  more  of  the  "manifest  endeavor"  than  intelli- 
gence. 


The  DRAMATIST 

As  a  practical  lesson  in  the  paramount  importance  of  sim- 
plicity in  Dramatic  Art  let  us  take  the  life  and  evolution  of 
Ibsen  as  a  master  Dramatist.  "Peer  Gynt,"  "Brand"  and  "Em- 
peror and  Galilian,"  are  three  high  art  specimens  written  in 
accordance  with  the  ideals  of  literary  critics  but  as  Plays  they 
are  far  from  the  pungency  and  skill  of  Ibsen's  later  realistic 
Drama.  For  this  great  playwright  whilst  he  ascended  tech- 
nically had  to  come  down  the  ladder  of  intellectual  analysis 
and  apply  his  attacks  on  idealism  to  the  everyday  people  of 
everyday  life. 

Here  he  found  his  greatest  scope  for  demonstrating  ideal- 
ism as  a  social  force.  Not  in  the  production  of  Art  for  art's 
sake — emperors,  saints  and  rom.antic  personages  but  in  the 
homely,  familiar  species  like  doctors,  parsons,  bankers  and 
builders  such  as  he  employed  in  the  "Pillars  of  Society." 

This  transition  in  the  life  of  Ibsen  the  Dramatist  is  a  tre- 
mendous endorsement  in  favor  of  simplicity  in  dramatic  com- 
position. No  highly  intellectual  scholar  has  made  a  successful 
dramatist  for  this  very  reason.  He  cannot  see  with  the  eyes 
of  the  multitude  nor  feel  with  their  hearts.  And  few  are  the 
instances  where  experience  has  triumphed  in  teaching  very 
learned  minds  that  a  descent  from  the  heights  of  philosophic 
illusion  is  the  only  path  to  playwriting ! 

It  is  freedom  from  these  scholarly  fetters  that  explains  the 
remarkable  rise  of  certain  playwrights.  They  are  not  ham- 
pered with  learning!  They  spring  from  the  ranks  of  the  com- 
mon people  and  know  well  the  call  of  the  herd ! 

Charles  Klein  might  be  cited  as  a  most  conspicuous  exam- 
ple of  this  type  of  successful  dramatist.  In  neither  of  his  two 
pronounced  successes,  "The  Music  Master"  nor  "The  Lion  and 
the  Mouse,"  is  intellectual  supremacy  or  even  technical  skill 
the  dominant  factor.  They  are  not  psychological  fantasies, 
they  are  crude  Plays  telling  a  simple  tale  in  familiar,  homely 
heart  language !  There  is  even  an  over-abundance  of  ordinary 
life  in  them,  ordinary  in  the  sense  of  being  superfluous.  But 
by  hook  or  crook  some  sort  of  interest  is  kept  going  in  each 
and  the  Play  starts  creeping  at  the  tag  end  of  the  first  Act,  and 
manages  to  hold  interest  till  the  curtain  falls. 

In  "The  Third  Degree"  a  perceptible  improvement  in  the 
author's  technic  is  noted.  He  has  relinquished  the  anti- 
quated form  of  double  story  in  a  play  and  maintains  his  vigi- 
lant adherence  to  the  throbbing  of  the  heartstrings.  Do  not 
gain  the  impression  that  this  faculty  has  come  to  Mr.  Klein 
without  years  of  patient  toil  and  observation.  In  fact  the  lack 
of  technic  might  indicate  more  observation  and  research  for 
situation  than  structure  as  is  evinced  in  his  use  of  the  popular 
hypnotic  device  in  his  latest  Play. 

8 


The  DRAMATIST 

Have  we  made  a  clear  case  against  the  ineffectiveness  of 
the  intellectual  author?  It  is  quite  a  journey  from  Ibsen  to 
Klein  but  who  can  say  that  in  simplicity  of  structure  and  real 
dramatic  force  such  plays  as  the  above  and  "Paid  in  Full,"  "A 
Happy  Marriage,"  "The  Witching  Hour"  and  "The  Climax" 
are  not  the  eve  of  an  evolution  in  playbuilding  that  will  out- 
Ibsenize  Ibsen? 

"IT  IS  MORE  PROFITABLE  TO  RECKON  UP  OUR 
DEFECTS  THAN  TO  BOAST  OF  OUR  ATTAIN- 
MENTS."—Carlyle. 

"GET  BUSY!"  IS  THE  SLOGAN  OF  THE  AGE!  IT 
REQUIRES  NOT  TALKERS  BUT  DOERS!  SAME 
WITH  DRAMA— DON'T  TALK!    ACT! 


DRAM 


Vlat;  is  the  lengthened  shadow  of  a 
man — the  man  Who  Writes  it. 


Yes,  he  is  a  miracle  of  genius  because  he  is  a  miracle  of 
labor;  because  instead  of  trusting  to  the  resources  of  his  own 
single  mind  he  has  ransacked  a  thousand  minds;  because  he 
makes  use  of  the  accumulated  wisdom  of  ages  and  takes  as  his 
point  of  departure  the  very  last  line  and  boundary  to  which 
science  has  advanced;  because  it  has  ever  been  the  object  of 
his  life  to  assist  every  intellectual  gift  of  Nature,  however  mu- 
nificent and  however  splendid,  with  every  resource  that  art 
could  suggest  and  every  attention  that  diligence  could  bestow. 

— Business  Philosopher. 


10 


The 


LUTHER  B. 

ANTHONY, 

E.ditor 

Vol.  I. 

EASTON,  PA. 

No. 

2 

QUARTERLY 

1910 

JANUARY 

The  1909  Record 

How  Many  Young  Authors  Master  the  Fundamentals? 
ONE  IN  500. 

Out  of  fifteen  thousand  plays  by  unknown  authors  sent  to 
managers  during  igog  thirty  were  accepted!  What  of  the  re- 
maining fourteen  thousand  nine  hundred  and  seventy?  Mana- 
gers unanimously  agree  that  the  great  majority  of  them  gave 
no  evidence  whatever  of  a  mastery  even  of  the  fundamentals 
of  dramatic  construction !  500  to  ! ! !  Is  the  proportion  over- 
whelming? Begin  the  New  Year  with  a  resolution  to  reduce 
that  fourteen  thousand !     Study  your  art ! 

MANAGERS     HUNTING     FEVERISHLY 

FOR     PLAYS. 

Theatres  Close  for  Want  of  Attractions. 

What  does  it  all  mean?  Is  it  possible  that  there  is  actually 
a  dearth  of  plays?  Is  the  demand  greater  than  the  supply  in 
a  profession  that  surpasses  all  others  as  a  short  cut  to  fame 
and  fortune?  For  surely  no  other  occupation  brings  a  man 
half  a  million  dollars  for  a  year's  work!  There  is  no  scarcity 
of  plays  of  the  sort  that  answered  the  purpose  only  a  few  years 
back,  but  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  an  entirely  new  species 
has  developed  in  Dram.a  in  this  short  space  of  time.  This 
transition  is  due  to  the  awakening  of  the  audience.  The  pub- 
lic of  this  strenuous  age  has  become  many  times  more  critical 
and  has  ceased  to  submit  to  the  irrational  artificiality  hereto- 
fore served  up  as  Drama. 

The  old  style  play  was  a  mere  vehicle  for  the  absurd  hys- 
teria of  the  emotional  capacities  of  the  actor.  The  new  or 
naturalistic  type  depicts  life  in  its  real  aspects  exposing  its 
virtues  and  vices  and  drawing  conclusions  therefrom.  We  only 
need  refer  to  the  plays  of  yesterday  to  see  in  the  philosophy  of 
many  writers,  this  tenor:  Put  it  on  the  stage  and  the  people 
will  think  it  is  true.  The  play  of  today  and  of  the  future  is  the 
one  whose  author  carefully  considers  the  logic  of  his  average 
onlooker  if  not  the  severest  test  that  sound  common  sense  will 

XI 


The  DRAMATIST 

afford.  This  is  an  era  of  Scientific  thought  and  the  most  mag- 
nificent discovery  of  the  searching  modem  spirit  is  the  pres- 
ence of  law,  order  and  harmony  in  all  the  world  around  us; 
that  creation  is  not  a  chaos,  a  collection  of  simple  isolated 
facts,  but  that  all  is  correlative  and  interdependent. 

The  same  law  holds  true  of  the  highest  and  best  of  human 
creations.  Art  is  Nature  passed  through  the  alembic  of  man. 
The  reign  of  law  has  crept  into  every  department  of  life  trans- 
forming knowledge  everywhere  into  Science,  And  the  pursuit 
of  law  is  the  passion  of  Science.  Our  finest  mental  structures 
are  built  upon  laws  or  principles  and  every  branch  of  modern 
education  has  a  classified  knowledge  resolving  in  general  laws 
and  scientific  principles.  For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of 
Dramatic  Literature  can  Drama  boast  of  a  Science!  The  Sci- 
ence of  Drama  shows  the  student  the  underlying  laws  and  in- 
terdependent principles  upon  which  good  plays  must  be  con- 
structed. It  is  this  enlightened  method  of  studying  the  Art 
of  Playwriting  that  has  enabled  Dramatists  to  advance  the 
standards  of  plays  to  meet  the  modern  demand  for  higher  Art. 
The  imbecile  play  does  not  fit  the  scientific  spectator! 

This  new  type  of  play  is  clearly  defined  in  recent  successes 
and  the  characteristics  above  mentioned  are  conspicuously 
absent  in  the  most  pronounced  failures.  The  New  Drama  has 
evolved  as  rapidly  in  this  country  as  elsewhere  and  in  the  mat- 
ter of  simple,  straightforward  technic  the  Yankee  genius  leads ! 
Eight  years  ago  sixty  per  cent  of  the  plays  in  America  were 
foreign  importations.  Today  the  foreign  product  is  scarcer 
than  the  native  was  then.  Here  is  a  practical  evidence  of 
progress!  In  another  similar  epoch  the  United  States  will  be 
the  foremost  exponent  of  Theatrical  Art  in  the  World ! 

The  increasing  tendency  is  to  reflect  contemporary  life. 
Managers  want  plays  by  American  authors  taking  a  firm  hold 
on  Modern  American  life !  They  m.ay  deal  with  life  in  the 
East  or  life  in  the  West,  in  the  heart  of  civilization  or  on  its 
frontiers;  social,  commercial,  domestic,  political  and  even  re- 
ligious so  long  as  the  quality  of  the  output  is  abreast  with  the 
progressive  standards  dem^anded  by  the  strenuous  public. 

"For  the  most  perfect  production  of  Art  in  ALL  its  forms, 
the  needful  preparation  is  still— SCIENCE!" — Herbert  Spen- 
cer. 

THE    COTTAGE    IN    THE    AIR. 

First  New  Play  at  the  New  Theatre. 

It  seems  incredible  to  think  that  The  New  Theatre  does 
not  know  a  Play  when  it  sees  one?  It  seems  still  more  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  it  would  have  selected  "The  Cottage  in  the 
Air"  for  its  opening  week  had  it  realized  that  this  piece  is  not 

12 


The  DRAMATIST 

a  Play.  If  we  can  show,  therefore,  that  it  is  not  a  Play,  we 
must  take  for  granted  that  the  "New"  conception  of  Dramatic 
Composition  is  not  altogether  clear.  For  technical  purposes 
we  may  define  a  play  as  A  Completed  Action  having  a  begin- 
ning, a  middle  and  an  end.  Can  this  definition  be  applied  to 
"A  Cottage  in  the  Air?" 

Let  us  see  what  constitutes  its  Theme:  The  folly  of  indis- 
criminate almsgiving.  How  is  this  theme  carried  into  Plot? 
A  young  princess  chooses  a  life  devoted  to  charity  in  prefer- 
ence to  a  royal  union.  She  finds  her  indiscriminate  almsgiving 
a  harmful  influence  and  finally  consents  to  marry  the  prince. 
This  is  a  tale  of  adventure,  but  not  a  completed  action.  Action 
implies  doubt.  Drama  is  Conflict  always.  There  should  be  a 
clash  of  interests  and  an  obstacle  to  be  overcome,  but  here  we 
have  a  tranquil  little  tale  of  fairyland  as  languid  as  a  lullaby. 
There  is  no  doubt.  There  is  no  conflict.  There  is  nothing  at 
issue.  None  of  the  dramatic  elements  of  anxiety,  suspense, 
curiosity  or  sympathy  are  dramatically  employed  in  its  devel- 
opment. The  "Comedy"  was  adapted  from  a  fairy  tale  and  re- 
mains nothing  but  a  simple  fable  for  want  of  proper  technical 
treatment.  There  is  plenty  of  material  in  it  for  a  Play,  but  it  is 
not  moulded  into  a  sustained  action !  The  presentation  of  a 
young  girl's  adventures,  even  though  she  be  a  runaway  prin- 
cess, does  not  constitute  action.  "The  Cottage  in  the  Air"  is 
a  most  excellent  example  of  what  Drama  is  not.  If  "The  New 
Theatre"  knows  exactly  what  a  Play  is,  it  has  found  out  since 
selecting  this  first  bill,  for  surely  no  evidence  of  that  know- 
ledge is  manifest  in  the  virgin  effort. 


THE    COMMANDING    OFFICER. 
Does  the  Play  Reader  Know? 

The  important  question  about  this  play  written  by  a  man 
who  has  acted  as  Play  reader  for  Charles  Frohman  for  the  last 
eleven  years  is:  Does  Burt  Sayre  really  know  how  bad  his 
Play  is?  Would  he  allow  it  to  be  staged  if  he  did?  These  are 
the  points  that  concern  the  many  American  playwrights  who 
forward  their  manuscripts  to  managers  for  approval. 

"The  Commanding  Officer"  violates  every  law  of  Drama 
that  the  science  of  Playwriting  has  thus  far  formulated !  It  is 
a  child's  conception  of  what  a  Play  should  be  dealing  with  a 
monstrous  subject  which  the  play  gives  no  excuse  for  venti- 
lating. It  is  the  oldest  of  the  "old  school"  melodrama  written 
by  a  man  who  is  supposed  to  judge  modern  dramatic  material. 
Some  years  ago  Thomas  wrote  a  play  on  this  order  called  "Ari- 
zona," but  he  has  long  since  graduated  from  that  obsolete 
standard ! 

13 


The  DRAMATIST 

There  are  so  many  useless  characters  employed  in  this  play 
that  it  may  be  likened  to  the  Three-ring  circus  with  the  usual 
supplement  of  side  shows.  And  while  Mr.  Sayre  is  said  to  en- 
joy the  distinction  of  never  having  abstracted  ideas  from  the 
plays  presented  to  him  for  reading  it  is  at  least  evident  that 
this  crude  document  is  nothing  more  than  a  conglomerate 
compilation  of  little  "stunts"  assembled  from  somewhere.  The 
author's  process  is  plainly  discernible.  He  wishes  to  write  a 
Play — he  refers  to  his  scrapbook  of  situations — here  he  finds 
a  clever  device  for  procuring  indelible  evidence  by  means  of  a 
camera.  "All  right,"  says  Mr.  Sayre,  "we  will  take  a  snap  shot 
of  a  wife  kissing  the  villain  No.  i,"  and  he  begins  to  construct 
his  Plot  around  this  inspiring  incident.  On  page  "23"  of  the 
said  scrap  book  he  also  finds  a  memorandum  that  a  shadow 
cast  upon  a  window  curtain  is  a  rare  bit  of  compromising  tes- 
timony, and  in  consequence  he  inserts  the  episode  of  the  sha- 
dow of  a  "Man  in  the  room"  which  turns  out  to  be  only  a  wo- 
man in  male  attire.  The  trick  compromises  the  character  of 
his  heroine  and  away  he  goes  writing  all  around  this  little 
scandal  splitting  his  Plot  into  half  a  dozen  shreds  of  disunity. 
The  continual  run  of  such  digression  soon  establishes  the  fact 
that  his  play  is  a  collection  of  "thrillers"  drawn  from  the  read- 
er's notebook  and  that  his  melodrama  is  merely  a  net  work 
strung  around  these  incidents  as  compared  with  a  legitimate 
play  BUILT  upon  a  theme  by  a  process  of  creative  imagina- 
tion. 

We  have  referred  to  villian  No.  i  because  like  the  double 
Topsy's  and  Eva's  in  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  this  new  melo- 
drama has  pairs  of  everything — villains,  lovers,  sweethearts, 
leading  men  and  leading  women.  "Stilly"  music  is  also  a  fac- 
tor in  painting  the  dime  novel  atmosphere  that  pervades  this 
piece. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  however,  there  are  good  spots  in 
this  crude  specimen  of  "workmanship,"  and  stranger  still  is 
the  fact  that  these  commendable  scenes  have  only  resulted 
when  Mr.  Sayre  evidently  quit  his  scrap  book  for  a  moment 
and  put  his  own  pen  to  the  paper.  Act  II  has  a  very  respecta- 
ble bit  of  dramatic  composition  in  the  way  of  a  cross-examina- 
tion of  an  innocent  girl  who  finds  difficulty  in  defending  her 
innocence  without  exposing  the  dishonor  of  her  dearest  friend. 
The  Scene  is  a  good  one. 

There  are  possibilities  in  this  material  for  a  good  Play 
which  a  dramatist  with  a  clear  vision  of  Unity  could  clarify 
and  reduce  to  a  simple,  compact  play.  But  judging  from  this 
specimen  of  Mr.  Sayre's  work,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  he  will 
never  in  a  thousand  years  write  a  Play  in  the  modern  accept- 
ance of  that  term,  unless  he  wakens  to  the  fact  that  an  entirely 

14 


The DRAMATIST 

new  type  of  Drama  has  evolved — a  scientific  Drama  which  re- 
quires systematic  structure  and  until  he  studies  this  Drama 
and  masters  its  principles  (all  of  which  we  have  said  are  trans- 
gressed in  "The  Commanding  Officer")  he  will  not  even  know 
how  to  efficiently  perform  the  functions  of  his  office  as  reader 
of  plays  for  the  most  prominent  manager  in  America. 

SEVEN    DAYS    AND    THE    WOMAN    PAYS. 
The  Advantage  of  Collaboration. 

That  a  writer  with  some  notion  of  stage  requirements  may 
fail  utterly  in  his  own  attempt  and  yet  make  good  in  collabo- 
ration with  another  is  clearly  illustrated  in  the  joint  effort  of 
Avery  Hopwood  and  Mrs.  Rinehart :  "Seven  Days"  which  is  a 
tremendous  success  following  Hopwood's  dramatic  disaster 
"The  Woman  Pays." 

In  "The  Woman  Pays"  Hopwood  attempted  a  morbid 
problem  play  which  is  conspicuous  for  its  absence  of  technical 
problem  and  which  manifests  little  skill  in  any  feature 
of  its  creation  save  a  fair  notion  of  stage  require- 
ments. But  in  collaboration  with  Mrs.  Rinehart  who  furnished 
the  humorous  material  highly  susceptible  of  dramatization  he 
succeeded  in  bringing  out  a  Play  of  the  lighter  vein  which 
threatens  to  rival  "Charley's  Aunt"  in  a  record  breaking  run 
on  Broadway. 

Nothing  could  testify  more  profoundly  to  the  demand  for 
consistent  Cause  and  Effect  even  in  a  farce  than  the  success  of 
this  play.  It  is  highly  improbable  in  many  details  but  the 
great  big  Cause  that  binds  the  complete  action  into  one  whole 
is  logical  and  rational.  The  house  is  quarantined  for  smallpox 
and  hence  the  reason  for  keeping  this  jolly  bunch  of  fun  mak- 
ers in  continued  relations  of  merriment  for  the  seven  days. 

"The  Woman  Pays"  is  a  much  feebler  argument  logically. 
A  woman  forces  her  betrayer  to  marry  her  at  the  point  of  a 
pistol.  She  rears  the  child  in  solitude  but  because  of  its  ap- 
peal to  both  of  them  the  man  and  wife  are  reunited.  The  Cause 
for  this  reunion  is  not  convincing.  It  could  doubtless  be 
wrought  into  the  play  if  the  characters  and  conditions  were 
modified  to  make  such  an  issue  plausible  but  the  play  as  it 
stands  fails  for  want  of  rational  Cause.  Of  course  the  Theme 
to  start  with  is  morbid  and  unsympathetic. 

These  two  plays  are  cited  as  an  instance  of  collaborative 
success  follovv^ing  individual  failure.  It  is  frequently  advisable 
for  an  author  to  join  efforts  with  one  of  an  entirely  different 
point  of  view.  Readers  of  "The  Dramatist"  who  would  like  to 
enter  into  arrangement  to  collaborate  with  other  authors  are 
invited  to  forward  their  manuscript  to  the  editor  who  after 
reading  same  will  suggest,  if  possible  some  name  with  whom 

15 


DRAM 


the  applicant  may  correspond.     Two  heads  are  ofttimes  bet- 
ter than  one ! 


ISRAEL. 
By  the  French  Builder  of  Gigantic  Scenes. 

Bernstein's  new  play  "Israel"  is  a  startling  example  of  the 
French  structural  method  of  building  backward  from  a  huge 
situation.  This  play  conforms  so  closely  to  that  plan  of  pro- 
cedure that  the  one  Big  Scene  virtually  constitutes  the  play 
despite  all  backward  or  forward  attempt  at  construction. 

It  might  be  said  in  a  strictly  technical  sense  that  the  play 
does  not  begin  in  the  first  act  nor  end  in  the  last  act.  We  lis- 
ten to  a  great  deal  of  talk  in  Act  I  about  Thibault's  hatred  for 
the  Jews,  and  see  him  challenge  a  prominent  Hebrew  gentle- 
man to  a  duel.  We  see  no  purpose  in  the  duel,  and  it  is  for 
this  reason  that  the  first  act  does  not  begin  the  play.  The  con- 
ditions of  the  actions  are  not  shared  with  the  audience.  We 
have  nothing  to  arouse  our  emotions  to  any  dramatic  degree 
because  we  are  not  given  the  facts  which  should  arouse  them. 
The  author  could  have  done  this  had  he  imparted  to  his  audi- 
ence (not  necessarily  to  the  characters  in  the  play)  some  sub- 
tle inference  that  Thibault  is  challenging  his  own  father  to 
mortal  combat.  We  would  then  have  something  for  our  emo- 
tions to  feed  upon — fear,  hope,  sympathy,  and  solicitude,  all 
would  spring  from  such  an  inference,  but  in  absolute  ignorance 
of  the  premises  of  the  play  how  can  we  be  expected  to  "Take 
Notice"  of  the  first,  or  anticipate  anything  for  the  second  act. 

The  same  author  has  accomplished  this  feat  most  dexter- 
ously in  "The  Thief,"  where  he  allows  the  boy  to  be  charged 
with  the  theft  but  gives  the  audience  two  clues  to  the  con- 
trary: the  fact  that  the  young  wife  is  inconsistently  extrava- 
gant and  that  the  boy  has  strong  reason  for  concealing  his  er- 
rand in  the  room  where  the  thefts  had  been  committed. 

On  the  other  hand  the  Third  or  last  act  of  "Israel"  does  not 
conclude  the  action  that  really  gets  a  going  in  the  magnificent 
second  act  for  the  reason  that  it  deals  with  a  love  affair  be- 
tween Thibault  and  a  girl  who  drops  from  the  clouds,  instead 
of  bringing  the  race  prejudice  problem  to  a  solution.  The  au- 
thor skilfully  illustrates  that  a  Jew,  under  the  pressure  of  Gen- 
tile environment  and  misconception  as  to  his  own  blood  can  be 
taught  to  despise  the  Jews  just  as  religiously  as  any  misguided 
Christian,  but  here  the  magnitude  of  the  play  is  thrown  to  the 
winds.  The  denouement  is  ignored  and  the  opportunity  of 
making  an  exalted  triumph  for  the  transcending  personality 
created  in  the  character  of  Thibault's  father,  is  cast  asunder. 
The  father  appeals  to  his  natural  son  in  vain.  Thibault  calmly 
replies  "I  hate  you,"  and  the  insipid,  manufactured  mush  above 

i6 


The  DRAMATIST 

mentioned  is  allowed  to  end  the  play — a  love  scene  truckling 
to  the  traditional  demand  for  a  "Happy-ever-afterward." 

But  we  can  well  afford  to  forget  all  this  distorted  structure 
(and  it  is  rumored  that  the  conventional  happy  ending  is  an 
American  amendment)  while  witnessing  the  Second  act,  for 
here  we  have  the  acme  of  technical  perfection.  The  act  is 
practically  one  extended  scene  between  mother  and  son,  in 
which  the  boy  wrings  the  awful  intelligence  (which  now 
dawns  dramatically  upon  the  audience  and  would  carry  fully 
as  well  if  the  first  act  were  entirely  omitted)  that  the  man 
whom  Thibault  is  about  to  fight,  once  cared  for  her;  then,  that 
she  cared  for  this  man;  that  the  affection  was  entirely  pure 
and  innocent;  and  finally  after  a  harrowing  cross-examination, 
that  she  had  sinned  and  that  this  Hebrew  is  Thibault's  own 
father.  The  master  stroke  in  this  scene  is  the  skilfull  treat- 
ment which  enables  every  atom  of  evidence  to  be  confined  to 
the  tense  dialog  between  these  two  people — mother  and  son. 

The  marriage  certificate,  the  wedding  ring,  the  witnesses, 
and  all  the  thousand  hum-drum  devices  familiar  in  common- 
place Drama  are  dispensed  with.  The  Dramatist  places  these 
two  characters  before  us  and  out  of  the  strongest  exigency  of 
circumstances  and  relations  between  them,  builds  this  power- 
ful situation  of  plain,  pungent  Drama.  As  a  scene  it  has  few 
rivals  in  recent  playwriting,  the  nearest  approach  being  the 
second  act  of  "The  Thief"  by  the  same  author,  which  is  treated 
under  separate  heading  in  this  issue. 


YOUR    HUMBLE    SERVANT. 
Excellent  Example  of  Amateur  Infirmities. 

Picture  two  writers  helplessly  drifting  in  a  current  of  clever 
play  ideas,  unable  to  gain  a  foothold  where  they  might  deter- 
mine which  to  select  and  which  to  reject;  and  you  have  an 
adequate  conception  of  the  whirlpool  of  conflicting  thoughts 
that  submerged  Newton  Booth  Tarkington  and  Harry  Leon 
Wilson  in  their  futile  efforts  to  make  a  consistent  Play  of 
"Your  Humble  Servant." 

It  is  the  purpose  of  the  following  analysis  to  show  conclu- 
sively that  a  certain  circumscribed  area  of  material  contains 
the  possible  structure  for  ONE  Play  and  that  any  departure 
from  that  inherent  course  of  development  after  the  boundaries 
are  once  laid  out,  merely  invites  disunity  and  confusion.  It  is 
not  always  easy  to  ascertain  this  native  structure  from  the  au- 
thor's staged  production  for  his  intended  idea  is  often  obscured 
by  hazy  technic.  In  "Your  Humble  Servant"  it  is  neces- 
sary to  search  diligently  for  the  dramatic  germ  which  the  au- 
thors attempted  to  exploit  but  it  is  about  as  follows: 

17 


The  DRAMATIST 

An  actor  discovers  that  he  loves  his  ward  upon  her  an- 
nouncement that  she  is  infatuated  with  a  younger  member  of 
their  company.  Financial  distress  confronts  them  disillusion- 
ing the  boy  but  stimulating  the  man  who  attains  success  as 
well  as  the  love  of  his  ward. 

This  is  the  legitimate  play  idea  intimated  in  the  chaos  of 
distracted  stuff  which  the  authors  have  endeavored  to  merge 
into  one  dram.a.  It  is  the  view  of  their  material  which  a  su- 
perior altitude  would  have  afforded  them — a  height  they  must 
climb  before  being  able  to  survey  the  prospect  and  determine 
what  legitimately  constitutes  their  own  play-territory. 

According  to  the  synopsis  above,  the  fundamental  condi- 
tion is  that  the  guardian  discovers  his  love  for  his  ward  when 
he  learns  that  she  loves  the  younger  fellow.  This  element 
should  be  introduced  as  soon  as  possible  for  it  is  one  of  the 
cardinal  points  upon  which  the  action  rests.  Where  do  we 
first  encounter  it  in  the  play?  At  the  end  of  the  Third  Act! 
To  be  sure  there  is  some  intimjjtion  of  the  situation  shown  in 
the  first  act  by  the  guardian's  behavior  when  the  girl  tells  him 
of  her  love  for  the  lad,  but  a  basic  factor  in  the  primal  struc- 
ture of  a  play  cannot  be  left  to  guesswork  or  the  symptoms  of 
love-lorn  sighs.  These  bulwarks  of  construction  must  be  built 
with  strong  lines  of  permanence  and  the  only  effective  method 
of  doing  this  is  by  means  of  Scenes!  Some  such  scene  does 
occur  at  the  end  of  the  third  act  but  not  being  the  outgrowth 
of  what  precedes  it  is  little  more  than  a  one  act  play  in  itself. 
This  scene  should  precede  the  entire  action  of  the  play  for  if 
we  do  not  know  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  this  man 
loves  his  ward  what  foundation  is  there  for  the  play  to  rest 
upon?  What  basis  is  there  to  stimulate  that  hope — hope — 
hope — that  the  "worthy  one  will  win  her."  Instead  of  confin- 
ing doubt  to  this  issue  the  play  casts  a  doubt  upon  the  love  of 
the  guardian  which  our  summary  shows  to  be  one  of  the  fore- 
most essentials  of  demonstration. 

Instead  of  fixing  the  premises  firmly  in  the  minds  of  their 
audience  the  authors  start  off  the  play  with  a  diverting  piece 
of  episode.  The  sheriff,  who  rightfully  belongs  in  the  first  act 
to  convey  the  impending  financial  disaster,  is  made  to  do  a  lit- 
tle amateur  theatrical  stunt;  not  because  it  in  any  way  ad- 
vances the  Plot  but  simply  for  the  reason  that  the  vaudeville 
stage  in  ages  past  has  endorsed  the  stunt  as  "funny."  It  is 
funny  just  as  a  thousand  other  tricks  might  be.  But  there  is 
no  place  in  a  real  Play  for  the  most  humorous  thing  in  the 
world  unless  it  contributes  in  some  perceptible  degree  to  the 
progress  of  Plot  or  the  Action.  Of  course  this  rule  does  not 
apply  to  farce  or  the  fantastic  Play. 

The  next  impression  given  us  in  the  first  act  of  this  play  is 
that  the  Plot  will  concern  a  young  man's  choice  between  home 

i8 


The  DRAMATIST 

and  a  stage  sweetheart.  In  a  special  scene  the  boy's  father  is 
introduced.  He  appeals  to  his  runaway  son  to  renounce  this 
Hfe  of  folly  for  a  home  of  luxury  and  a  career  in  the  financial 
world.  Haven't  we  every  right  to  presume  from  this  empha- 
sized condition  that  the  play  will  involve  a  struggle  between 
these  two  contending  forces?  But  this  predicted  struggle  is 
no  material  factor  in  the  play ! 

In  the  summary  above  you  will  note  that  the  true  cause 
for  the  boy's  desertion  of  the  girl  is  the  financial  distress  that 
confronts  them.  The  father's  protest  is  brought  in  as  an  addi- 
tional motive  and  results  in  diluting  the  main  cause.  The  fact 
that  the  authors  wish  to  establish  is  that  the  boy's  love  is  not 
equal  to  the  test!  He  is  out  of  the  running!  The  mature  love 
of  the  actor  is  of  superior  quality.  The  father's  opposition  to 
the  stage  and  the  fine  home  that  awaits  the  boy  might  be  inci- 
dental factors  in  the  action  but  they  are  not  facts  that  warrant 
whole  Scenes  to  pronounce  them !  Particularly  if  such  Scenes 
subordinate  the  Plot  essentials.  If  is  in  this  regard  that  the 
authors  need  more  perspective  in  their  play  plans ! 

All  of  the  second  act  is  given  over  to  proving  two  things. 
That  the  boy  is  pigeon-hearted  and  surrenders — that  the  man 
is  eternally  optimistic  and  strikes  luck.  But  here  again  Unity 
is  impaired,  for  the  luck  that  he  strikes  is  a  precarious  horse 
race — not  the  legitimate  success  that  is  in  keeping  with  what 
has  gone  before.  This  resort  to  irrelevant  chance  is  the  flimsi- 
est subterfuge.  The  success  consistent  with  the  Plot  is  stage 
success !  If  the  second  act  ended  with  the  young  cub's  capitu- 
lation coincident  with  a  gleam  of  triumph  for  the  guardian,  the 
third  and  fourth  acts  might  easily  be  merged  into  one  epoch  of 
the  action  setting  forth  the  triumph.  As  it  is,  these  two  acts 
ramble  aimlessly  about  taking  artistic  success  as  a  matter  of 
course  instead  of  attaining  it  out  of  the  natural  development  of 
the  play.  All  sorts  of  mock  martyrdom  artificially  defer  the 
conclusion  of  the  love  story  and  the  fourth  act  is  only  made 
possible  by  the  mechanical  stage  hysterics  of  the  girl  in  act 
III,  who,  after  warmly  declaring  her  love  for  the  guardian 
frantically  asserts  she  didn't  mean  it !  This  is  the  author's  con- 
trivance irrespective  of  the  nature  of  their  plot. 

Besides  these  principal  violations  of  technic  there  is  the 
spurious  episode  of  the  juggler  who  is  supposed  to  have 
aroused  the  jealousy  of  the  young  lover  (This  promises  an  en- 
tirely new  play) — the  guardian's  drink  contest  with  the  society 
sot,  which  prompts  us  to  expect  some  complication  arising 
from  this  debauch ;  and  the  Yiddish  stagemanager  who  works 
overtime  to  give  us  an  accurate  account  of  the  vicissitudes  of 
his  profession :  all  of  which  encumber  the  legitimate  progress 
of  the  Plot  without  bearing  essential  relation  to  any  minor  de- 
tail of  Plot  action. 

19 


The  DRAMATIST 

"Your  Humble  Servant"  is  the  strongest  argument  for 
complete  plans  and  specifications  in  the  project  of  Play  build- 
ing! If  the  novice  does  not  know  what  constitutes  the  frame- 
work of  a  house  how  can  he  construct  one?  He  is  very  apt  to 
fall  into  the  error  of  the  authors  of  this  piece  building  more 
rooms  than  the  walls  will  contain  or  the  roof  shelter ! 

THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER. 
Another  Example  of  the  New  Type. 

"The  Fortune  Hunter"  takes  first  place  in  the  igog  edition 
of  productions  for  two  reasons.  It  is  the  new  type  of  simple 
story  and  construction  and  it  is  an  IDEA  Play  ventilating  a 
vital  problem  of  social  welfare.  The  moral  of  the  Play  is: 
Don't  marry  a  rich  "lady,"  for  you  may  some  day  be  able  to 
support  yourself  and  the  woman  you  love! 

Let  us  reduce  the  Play  to  a  synopsis  and  survey  the  result. 
A  young  man  seeks  a  rich  man's  daughter  but  declines  the 
match  upon  discovering  his  business  ability  to  provide  for  the 
girl  he  really  loves.  It  is  a  very  wholesome  little  story  and  Mr. 
Winchell  Smith  has  handled  it  with  rare  skill  and  humor.  He 
can  study  with  pr.ofit,  however,  the  superior  technic  of  Eugene 
Walter  in  "the  Easiest  Way"  and  "Paid  in  Full."  Particularly 
is  this  advisable  in  the  denouement  of  his  play.  The  solution 
is  not  obtained  from  a  logical  manipulation  of  the  material  but 
is  patched  up  out  of  foreign  threads  of  irrelevant  fabric. 

The  closing  situation  is  as  follows.  The  young  man  has 
attained  the  fullest  measure  of  success  in  his  undertaking. 
The  heiress  has  proposed  marriage.  But  alas!  He  now  finds 
himself  capable  of  earning  money  and  to  cap  the  climax  he 
really  loves  a  bewitching  little  lass!  The  question  that  now 
confronts  the  playwright  is:  How  can  he  shake  the  heiress? 
Mr.  Smith  loses  courage.  He  does  not  see  a  legitimate  way  to 
accomplish  this  feat  so  he  trumps  up  a  second  story  of  ru- 
mored embezzlement,  permits  this  rumor  to  repel  the  moneyed 
maiden  and  bluntly  tosses  his  hero  into  the  arms  of  his  hero- 
ine. 

But  this  is  not  playwriting!  The  Play  is  still  unfinished.  The 
ending  affixed  is  not  a  conclusion  dramatically  drawn  from  the 
proposition  he  started  with.  The  materials  are  all  there  to  work 
with  but  the  builder  has  laid  them  down  just  at  a  moment  when 
the  completed  structure  was  promised.  Deserting  his  firm  foun- 
dation he  selects  another  building  site,  sticks  a  few  straws  in 
the  sand  and  says:  "My  building  is  finished!"  The  true  solu- 
tion of  this  Play  is  in  the  plot  itself.  The  young  man's  discov- 
ery of  self-sufficiency  is  the  real  cause  that  dispels  the  feminine 
financial  fancy  and  not  the  haphazard  device  of  a  false  rumor 
of  embezzlement.  Such  clap-trap  contrivance  puts  a  farce- 
comedy  end  to  a  Play  that  is  otherwise  original  and  funny. 

20 


The  DRAMATIST 

There  is  a  third  story  lightly  sketched  in  this  play  which 
serves  more  as  an  obstacle  to  the  progress  of  the  main  plot 
than  any  other  purpose.  It  retards  the  beginning  of  the  play 
and  clogs  the  essential  action  which  we  are  only  too  eager  to 
see.  We  refer  to  the  water-gas  invention.  Considerable  talk 
is  necessary  in  the  first  act  to  prepare  for  this  impediment  and 
it  comes  to  nothing  of  plot  value.  The  Theme  purpose  of  the 
author  is  to  show  that  his  young  hero  has  in  him  the  qualities 
that  win  success  which  faculty  only  the  exigency  of  circum- 
stances could  arouse.  Instead  of  that  he  divides  the  issue  and 
decides  to  "ring  in"  a  cheap,  irrelevant  episode  of  speculation 
to  achieve  the  young  man's  success.  His  ability  had  already 
been  illustrated.  The  get-rich-quick  element  only  dilutes  the 
force  of  the  principal  story  and  impairs  the  Problem  which 
calls  for  that  moderate  degree  of  success  financially  which 
would  naturally  accrue  from  the  honest  efforts  of  newly  at- 
tuned personality  in  developing  a  business  enterprise.  The 
author  should  choose  one  course  of  action  and  cling  to  it.  By 
all  odds  the  regular  commercial  method  of  legitimate  trade  is 
preferable.  It  enforces  the  character  of  our  hero.  To  prevent 
a  sacrifice  sale  of  an  old  man's  invention  is  a  fortuitous  expedi- 
ent and  to  become  rich  through  a  clever  sale  of  this  patent, 
(which  does  not  take  place  before  the  audience)  is  not  dra- 
matic method,  it  is  story. 

THE    HARVEST    MOON. 

Intellect  Against  Art. 

In  his  new  play  "The  Harvest  Moon"  Augustus  Thomas 
boldly  defies  the  fundamental  principles  of  play  construction. 
The  play  deals  with  a  metaphysical  theory  that  is  fast  becom- 
ing science  but  while  it  is  an  evidence  of  intellect  it  is  a  lapse 
of  art.  The  result  is  a  preachment — not  a  Play.  This  may  be 
due  to  deliberate  intention  in  the  belief  that  he,  the  author,  is 
bigger  than  his  art,  or  it  may  come  through  utter  surrender  to 
an  absorbing  theme. 

The  death  of  Clyde  Fitch  leaves  Thomas  his  lenial  succes- 
sor as  the  leading  exponent  of  American  drama,  but  the  latter 
certainly  inherits  no  liberal  legacy  of  Fitch's  mastery  of  tech- 
nic.  Thomas  is  a  capable  scene  builder.  He  has  created 
one  scene  in  the  second  act  of  his  new  play  which  is  supreme 
in  itself,  but  the  great  gaps  in  Plot  structure  all  about  it  natu- 
rally detract  from  its  potency  and  render  the  absence  of  tech- 
nic  painfully  apparent.  He  expects  to  arouse  our  sympathy 
concerning  a  young  girl's  ill-treatment,  but  from  the  very  out- 
set neglects  to  share  with  his  audience  the  information  that  is 
expected  to  generate  these  emotions.  In  dissecting  the  first 
act  we  see  the  author's  intention  to  lead  us  to  hope  that  a  cer- 
tain French  visitor  will  turn  out  to  be  the  girl's  father.     This 

21 


The  DRAMATIST 

parental  relation  is  one  of  the  vital  conditions  upon  which  he 
builds  his  play  as  well  as  the  basis  of  authority  for  this  man's 
meddling  with  the  domestic  affairs  of  the  girl's  family.  The 
only  clue  we  have  to  the  blood  relation  between  these  two 
people  is  the  information  that  the  girl's  mother  had  some  love 
affair  in  France  and  the  Frenchman's  observation:  "She  is 
very  like  her  mother — but  not  like  me."  We  see  that  the  au- 
thor is  endeavoring  to  make  us  suspect  some  such  outcome, 
but  this  factor  of  kinship  being  one  of  the  cardinal  essentials 
of  Plot  should  not  be  left  to  any  such  precarious  guess-work 
so  far  as  the  audience  is  concerned.  It  is  not  necessary  that 
the  characters  in  the  play  be  given  this  bit  of  information  until 
the  proper  time,  but  the  audience  should  know  or  at  least  sur- 
mise it  from  the  very  first.  The  province  of  the  playwright  is 
to  lead  his  audience  to  think  in  a  certain  direction,  not  to  baffle 
or  bewilder  them.  It  is  in  this  respect  that  Mr.  Thomas  has 
defied  an  immutable  law  of  his  art,  transposing  drama  into 
mere  fiction  simply  for  want  of  conditions  properly  laid  to  gen- 
erate and  sustain  Dramatic  Action. 

The  Harvest  Moon  is  made  to  shine  upon  a  separate  Plot 
of  irrelevant  romance  concerning  a  dissolute  old  judge  and  a 
widow  of  startling  sophistication.  This  sub-plot  is  in  no  way 
joined  to  the  main  story.  It  is  a  little  vaudeville  skit  grafted 
on  to  the  main  Plot  to  meet  the  traditional  notion  that  Drama 
is  a  blending  of  "Laughs  and  Tears!"  Such  episode  should 
be  exceedingly  strong  to  warrant  an  interruption  of  a  Play, 
and  it  must  be  said  that  technically  this  specimen  is  far  below 
the  standard  Mr.  Thomas  has  set,  both  in  scene  construction 
and  character  study. 

In  the  absence  of  any  evidence  that  this  Frenchman  is  the 
girl's  father  the  play  makes  a  desperate  effort  to  put  an  end  to 
itself  at  the  close  of  Act  III  where  she  and  her  lover  are  re- 
united by  the  light  of  the  Harvest  Moon.  The  fourth  act 
which  attempts  to  separate  them  again,  is  a  gross  transgres- 
sion upon  the  Unity  of  the  principal  theme,  for  we  are  now 
witnessing  a  melodrama  concerning  the  illegitimate  birth  of 
our  heroine  which  complication  is  dissolved  only  by  the 
trumped-up  testimony  of  the  Frenchman  whose  evidence  is  so 
devoid  of  conviction  as  to  reveal  the  author's  pen  sticking 
through  the  thin  fabric  of  invention.  If  such  a  Play  were  of- 
fered by  any  writer  other  than  a  man  of  Mr.  Thomas'  prestige 
the  advice  would  be:  "Go  study  technic!  Take  Eugene 
Walter  for  a  model !" 

22 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE    MELTING    POT. 
Mr.  Zangwill  Evades  the  Issue. 

The  gist  of  the  Melting  Pot  is  as  follows : 

A  girl  of  the  Russian  aristocracy  falls  in  love  with  a  Jew- 
ish musician  whose  family  her  father  has  massacred.  The 
Russian  aristocrat  relinquishes  his  Life  Prejudice.  He  and 
the  Jew  are  fully  reconciled.    The  daughter  marries  him. 

Purged  of  all  detail  these  are  the  essentials  of  Zangwill's 
new  Play.  In  every  good  Play  the  essentials  are  invariably 
proven.    Do  we  find  that  the  case  here? 

The  young  Russian  girl  is  fascinated  with  the  Hebrew's 
musical  skill  but  her  love  for  the  man  is  far  from  being  firmly 
established.  There  is  no  reasonable  basis  for  love  between 
these  radically  opposed  types.  The  author  requires  this  condi- 
tion in  his  premises  and  practically  assumes  the  fact.  The 
young  people  have  a  little  quarrel  and  then:  "Nothing  shall 
separate  us !" 

But  if  we  accept  the  author's  proposition  that  the  most  vio- 
lent class  hatred  in  the  world  may  be  overcome  by  a  little  mu- 
sic and  love,  we  are  still  face  to  face  with  the  opposition  of  the 
Russian  father,  who  is  bitterly  opposed  to  the  match  to  say 
nothing  of  the  Jew's  attitude  toward  an  enemy  who  had  mas- 
sacred the  members  of  his  own  family!  Here  we  have  two 
firm  wills  in  violent  conflict.  There  may  be  some  subtle 
agency  in  the  realm  of  Dramatic  invention  that  could  reconcile 
two  such  enemies  but  Mr.  Zangwill  has  not  shown  it  to  us. 
He  merely  evades  the  issue !  By  the  aid  of  a  little  eloquent 
preaching  the  author  gives  us  to  believe  that  the  battle  is  over 
and  that  the  Jew  wins.  For  after  listening  to  a  sermon  con- 
demning his  bloody  deeds  the  Russian  calmly  surrenders.  The 
weapon  he  was  about  to  use  on  his  young  adversary  he  now 
offers  in  abject  resignation,  saying:  "You're  right — shoot  me!" 

Despite  the  fact  that  ex-president  Roosevelt  and  "Collier's 
Weekly"  commend  this  play  for  its  lofty  motif  it  cannot  be 
called  good  Drama  for  it  is  not  convincing.  The  dramatist 
like  the  jurist  must  firmly  establish  every  link  in  his  chain  of 
evidence.  When  he  fails  to  do  so  he  reveals  the  naked  hand 
of  an  author  writing  his  personal  views  into  the  play  instead 
of  causing  them  to  be  brought  out  through  the  clashing  inter- 
ests of  his  characters. 

Very  much  after  the  fashion  of  "The  Harvest  Moon,"  "The 
Melting  Pot"  contains  a  spurious  fourth  act  which  is  almost 
wholly  foreign  to  the  Play  itself,  containing  none  of  the  essen- 
tials in  the  syllogism  above  outlined. 

What  does  the  fourth  act  accomplish?  The  third  act  ends 
with  the  reconciliation  of  enemies.  The  daughter  could  easily 
find  herself  in  the  arms  of  her  sweetheart,  now.  But  no,  Mr. 
Zangwill    wishes    further   opportunity    to    shout   his   theorieai 

23 


The  DRAMATIST 

from  the  housetops.  He  places  his  hero  on  the  roof  garden  of 
a  city  building — to  preach  to  us — for  the  character  has  nothing 
more  to  say  in  his  relation  to  the  other  characters.  The  au- 
thor is  so  intent  on  this  sermonizing  that  he  soon  forgets  to 
take  in  a  valuable  violin  out  of  the  rain.  The  play  has  long 
since  stopped,  but  we  are  asked  to  listen  to  a  manufactured 
quarrel  between  the  lovers,  long-drawn-out,  and  not  until  his 
eloquence  is  exhausted  does  Mr.  Zangwill  allow  us  to  go  home. 
The  motive  involved  is  highly  commendable.  Our  purpose, 
however,  is  technical  discussion  and  study — and  the  secret  of 
the  play's  success  is  its  appeal  to  the  Jewish  element.  If  it 
were  not  for  his  own  tribe  Mr.  Zangwill  would  soon  exhaust 
his  audience. 


PAID     IN     FULL    AND     THE     THIEF. 
Comparing  Technical  Attributes. 

These  two  plays  have  been  praised  by  nearly  every  critic 
in  the  country  and  have  received  the  stamp  of  approval  of  mil- 
lions of  people.  On  that  basis  we  will  call  them  the  two  best 
modern  plays  extant.  There  may  be  better  types  of  drama  but 
they  have  either  not  been  pronounced  good  or  they  have  not 
had  the  final  test  of  time.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  aspiring  drama- 
tist to  study  such  specimens  very  closely  not  alone  from  a 
financial  outlook  but  from  the  standpoint  that  only  as  a  play 
succeeds  is  the  dramatist  successful  for  his  object  is  to  reach 
the  greatest  number  of  people  with  the  message  he  has  to  con- 
vey. We  will  therefore  inquire  into  the  Dramatic  elements 
that  evidently  give  these  plays  their  distinction  and  determine 
their  success. 

Each  play  tells  a  simple,  straightforward  story  embodying 
a  single  and  simple  Theme.  That  of  "Paid  in  Full"  is :  "The 
reward  of  selfishness."  That  of  "The  Thief"  is:  "Theft  for 
Love." 

Our  next  step  of  analysis  is  the  reduction  of  each  play  to 
its  least  common  denominator  or  its  briefest  possible  syllog- 
ism. We  will  quote  the  following  proposition  done  by  one  of 
the  students  of  the  Institute  of  the  Drama. 

PAID  IN  FULL. 

Conditions. 

A  Clerk  steals  money  from  his  employer  who  loves  his 
wife. 

Cause. 

The  clerk  compels  his  wife  to  make  "any  terms"  for  his 
escape  from  imprisonment. 

24 


DRAM 


Conclusion. 


She  accomplishes  her  husband's  release  without  losing  her 
honor. 

THE  THIEF. 

Conditions. 

A  woman  steals  money  from  a  friend  to  hold  her  husband's 

admiration. 

Cause. 

She  induces  a  boy  who  is  madly  in  love  with  her  to  assume 
the  theft. 

Conclusion. 

Her  husband  repudiates  her  when  he  learns  the  truth. 

Of  course  these  Plays  contain  m.any  twists  and  turns  not 
indicated  in  these  brief  summaries  but  the  above  problems 
contain  the  essential  germ  that  is  the  seed  from  which  the 
Play  grows.     All  further  details  belong  to  Plot  development. 

Like  the  postage  stamp  they  stick  to  one  thing  until  they 
get  there.  The  action  is  not  clogged  with  secondary  story  or 
biplot.  The  author  signifies  his  purpose  and  sets  about  at 
once  to  accomplish  it.  The  method  in  each  case  is  much  the 
same.  No  time  is  wasted  on  the  antiquated  theory  that  there 
must  be  an  "exposition"  of  all  the  characters  in  the  Play. 
From  the  very  outset  the  conditions  out  of  which  the  action  is 
to  grow  are  planted  firmly  with  the  audience.  The  characters 
take  care  of  themselves  as  they  always  will  where  Theme  and 
Proposition  are  adhered  to.  Now  do  not  gain  a  misconception 
of  our  meaning.  Neither  Bernstein  nor  Walter  may  have  fol- 
lowed any  set  chart  like  the  foregoing  but  the  Theme  was  a 
guiding  star,  nevertheless,  and  the  flaws  that  do  crop  out  in 
their  Plays  result  from  a  departure  from  Theme  and  Propo- 
sition. 

In  "Paid  in  Full"  the  wife  is  shown  to  be  a  stoic  amidst  the 
faultfinding  relatives  who  remind  her  constantly  of  the  hus- 
band's poverty.  We  also  get  a  glimpse  of  the  husband's  self- 
ishness and  of  the  bachelor  employer's  partiality  for  the  wife 
and  his  appreciation  of  her  merits.  We  are  prepared  for  the 
husband's  salacious  proposal  that  his  wife  barter  her  chastity 
for  his  freedom  but  we  are  also  given  reason  to  expect  her 
strength  sufficient  to  resist  and  conquer  even  such  a  monster 
as  the  employer  is  seen  to  be.  The  author  does  not  tell  us 
how  he  will  solve  the  problem  but  he  skillfully  leads  us  to  hope 
— hope — hope — for  the  issue  he  finally  arrives  at. 

In  "The  Thief"  we  learn  of  the  unwarranted  extravagance 
of  this  young  wife  so  madly  in  love  with  her  own  husband — a 
man  of  modest  income.    Then  we  see  that  the  young  man  of 

25 


The  DRAMATIST 

the  house  is  sorely  smitten  with  her.  But  there  is  no  sugges- 
tion of  impurity.  The  news  of  the  theft  in  the  house  is  given 
out  and  under  rather  suspicious  circumstances  the  boy  is  made 
to  confess  the  crime.  But  we  are  only  half  convinced.  The 
author  has  imparted  a  subtle  hint  to  us  that  this  boy  has  a  rea- 
son for  confessing  rather  than  expose  certain  things  that 
would  reveal  his  secret  love  for  the  young  wife  and  by  this 
means  we  are  allowed  to  divine  the  error  awaiting  develop- 
ments in  breathless  suspense.  We  do  not  suspect  the  wife  at 
first  because  of  the  infallible  evidence  apparently  convicting 
the  boy,  but  when  the  proper  time  comes  we  connect  the  ex- 
travagance with  the  dawning  proof  against  her  and  our  sympa- 
thy is  only  intensified  for  this  little  soul  who  has  transgressed 
man's  law  in  her  desperation  to  exchange  even  earthly  things 
for  a  fuller  portion  of  her  husband's  love.  This  is  not  a  lax 
lesson?  It  is  merely  a  tribute  to  the  old  maxim  that  "Love  is 
blind." 

The  climax  in  each  play  is  a  struggle  between  man  and 
woman.  The  one  between  a  pure  woman  and  her  would-be 
seducer.  The  other  betvv^een  a  pure  woman  and  her  own  hus- 
band. In  each  conflict  only  two  people  are  concerned  and  each 
constitutes  one  big  scene  which  is  the  making  of  the  Play.  The 
Thief  has  one  advantage  over  its  contemporary  in  the  matter 
of  physical  form.  It  is  put  forth  in  three  acts.  This  is  the 
ideal  division  for  a  Play!  The  first  conveys  the  Conditions, 
the  second,  the  Cause  and  the  third  the  Conclusion.  "Paid  in 
Full"  is  susceptible  of  this  ideal  arrangement  but  a  fourth  Act 
has  been  attached  which  accomplishes  nothing  that  could  not 
have  been  settled  in  the  third.  In  fact  the  wife's  denunciation 
of  her  selfish  husband  could  have  been  many  times  intensified 
if  backed  up  by  the  old  employer's  presence  and  his  over- 
whelming evidence  of  her  heroic  strength  and  honor!  Think 
what  a  scathing  reckoning  the  young  imp  would  receive  at  the 
hands  of  a  monster  she  had  virtually  sanctified !  Jimsie's  love 
theme  is  a  slight  tendency  to  Disunity  of  the  main  Theme  but 
the  episode  is  so  well  handled  it  makes  its  own  apology.  It 
may  be  seen  in  the  above  outline  of  the  Play  that  no  such  issue 
is  a  part  of  the  Proposition.  It  is  a  side  story  spliced  on  to 
achieve  the  "happy  ending"  but  so  cleverly  interwoven  with 
the  main  fabric  as  to  retard  action  the  least  bit  possible. 

A  like  criticism  may  be  made  of  the  husband's  jealousy  in 
Bernstein's  Play.  The  complication  is  startling  and  the  temp- 
tation for  the  author  to  incorporate  it  in  his  play  is  overpower- 
ing but  it  is  nevertheless  Disunity  for  it  bears  little  or  no  direct 
relation  to  the  Proposition  of  the  real  Play  and  hinders  the 
progress  of  the  main  Theme  demanding  a  solution  apart  from 
the  denouement  of  "The  Thief."  In  the  chaos  that  results  the 
author  fails  to  allay  the  jealousy  he  has  aroused  in  the  husband 

26 


The  DRAMATIST 

and  the  Play  is  allowed  to  end  in  a  very  pretty  but  a  very 
tame  and  undramatic  talk  condoning  the  wife's  actions.  This 
is  true  of  all  the  Plays  written  by  this  young  Frenchman.  He 
is  a  winner  at  the  climax  but  a  "dead  one"  when  the  battle  is 
once  past.  And  what  accounts  for  this  sluggish  denouement? 
It  is  the  Disunity  created  by  the  jealousy  motive.  The  mo- 
ment the  wife  makes  public  confession  of  her  guilt  the  Play  is 
at  an  end  and  the  proposition  solved  for  the  husband's  love  is 
restored  and  any  foreign  element  interposed  to  defer  this  pro- 
per end  vexes  us  unawares  and  generates  the  sighs  and  yawns 
that  greet  the  labored  efforts  that  precede  the  final  curtain. 
The  flaw  no  doubt  arises  in  transposing  and  transplanting  the 
Play  from  France  to  America.  Slight  modifications  are  the 
usual  thing  and  a  good  Play  cannot  be  tampered  with  even  in 
the  tiniest  parts.  In  France  the  evidence  of  a  wife's  love 
might  not  be  fortified  by  the  fact  that  she  committed  theft 
only  that  she  might  appear  the  lovelier  in  her  husband's  eyes. 
The  American  ideal  is  a  trifle  loftier.  And  any  attempt  to 
make  a  husband  suspect  such  a  wife  of  a  monstrous  sin  de- 
bases both  the  man  and  the  Play.  The  flaw  is  just  as  truly 
technical  for  it  is  a  direct  violation  of  both  Proposition  and 
Theme.  The  summary  does  not  call  for  a  jealous  motive  and 
the  Theme  is  love,  not  jealousy. 

The  purpose  of  analysing  these  two  Plays  is  to  illustrate 
the  supremacy  of  ART  in  even  the  most  popular  form  of 
Drama.  In  other  words  these  Plays  please  because  they  ap- 
proach perfection  in  craftsmanship  and  not  because  they  in- 
volve sensational  subject  matter.  They  mark  a  very  noticea- 
ble trend  in  the  evolution  of  Drama  toward  Unity  and  sim- 
plification of  Plot.  It  is  a  stride  forward  in  perfect  keeping 
with  the  tremendous  progress  of  this  scientific  age!  It  is  the 
only  sort  of  Play  that  will  fit  the  age !    It  is  standard ! 

THE    RETURN     OF    EVE. 
A  Fantasy  Because  it  is  Not  Drama. 

As  an  evidence  that  this  is  the  AGE  of  the  NEW  AUTHOR 
no  better  proof  can  be  advanced  than  the  fact  that  such  pro- 
ducts as  "The  Return  of  Eve"  by  Lee  Wilson  Dodd,  are  able 
to  obtain  a  metropolitan  hearing.  The  program  styled  it  "A 
modern  fantasy  in  four  acts,"  but  we  shall  treat  of  it  as  a  Play, 
there  being  no  musical  accompaniment  to  admit  it  to  the  realm 
of  opera. 

There  are  some  good  spots  in  the  Eve  character — a  woman 
reared  in  total  ignorance  of  the  conventions  of  the  inhabited 
world — but  she  is  not  framed  in  a  dramatic  picture ;  merely 
sketched  off  with  very  little  heed  to  theatrical  requirments. 
Instead   of   allowing   conditions  to   unfold   themselves  in   the 

27 


The  DRAMATIST 

inevitable  dramatic  way,  the  author  elects  an  orator  in  the  per- 
son of  "Old  Winters"  to  talk  the  premises  of  his  Play  into  the 
audience.  There  is  little  or  no  compulsive  origin  in  this  talk. 
It  happens  simply  because  the  author  so  ordained  it.  The  one 
thing  that  should  be  less  conspicuous  in  a  Play  than  any  other 
is  the  AUTHOR!  Or  the  author's  purpose !  The  moment  his 
will  dominates  the  spontaniety  of  the  speech  of  the  characters 
that  moment  the  dramatic  illusion  is  threatened ! 

What  there  is  of  coherent  Plot  in  this  piece  is  highly  me- 
chanical. This  is  the  apparent  reason  for  naming  it  a  "fan- 
tasy." It  is  too  fantastic  or  artificial  to  come  under  the  title 
of  Play.  But  even  a  Phantasy  in  this  day  and  age  must  pos- 
sess some  logical  cohesion  if  it  is  to  exist  upon  its  capacity  to 
hold  and  entertain  an  audience.  Mere  stage  pictures  and 
smart  epigram  are  no  provocation  for  a  fee  of  admittance. 

For  want  of  consistent  Plot  the  author  finds  difficulty  in 
dividing  his  Play  into  Act  units.  The  material  is  not  suffi- 
ciently shaped  to  allow  any  such  decision.  An  attempt  is  made 
in  Act  III  to  work  up  to  a  big  Scene  on  the  supposition  that 
here  is  where  the  climax  begins.  But  the  emotional  exhibition 
hangs  in  mid  air.  It  is  no  climax  for  it  has  no  foundation  to 
rest  upon.  It  is  situation  for  situation  sake !  The  Play  has  no 
central  story  that  leads  up  to  climax.  Some  effort  is  devoted 
to  creating  a  struggle  between  Adam  and  a  worldly  suitor  for 
the  hand  and  heart  of  Eve,  but  Adam  drops  completely  out  of 
the  contest  after  a  first  hint  at  the  contention  and  no  continued 
purpose  is  seen.  In  Act  III  the  Plot  becomes  an  intrigue  to 
swindle  Eve  out  of  her  legacy.  At  no  point  in  the  Play  are  the 
lines  of  battle  openly  drawn.  Attention  is  concentrated  on 
character  contrast  and  catchy  epigram.  There  is  no  tendency 
toward  a  completed  action  or  a  concluded  argument  with  a 
Beginning,  a  Middle  and  an  End. 

As  is  so  often  the  case  in  crude  Drama  the  fourth  Act  is 
spurious,  being  nothing  more  than  an  unnecessary  "stretching 
out  of  the  agony."  Three  Acts  are  as  a  rule  sufficient  and  the 
third  and  fourth  in  this  Play  should  have  been  merged  into 
one.  There  is  no  rational  reason  for  keeping  Adam  and  Eve 
apart.  There  is  a  fake  misunderstanding  sustained  on  the 
stage  but  not  in  the  minds  of  the  audience.  Drama  is  definite ! 
If  there  is  an  obstacle  it  must  be  clearly  apparent !  The  spec- 
tator loves  to  submit  to  such  an  illusion  when  the  obstacle  is 
genuine,  but  when  he  sees  that  it  is  merely  a  device  of  the 
author's — action  is  killed  outright!  And  it  should  require  a 
pretty  substantial  reason  to  keep  two  unconventional  lovers 
apart ! 

We  call  attention  to  the  favorable  attitude  of  managers  to- 
ward untried  Plays  to  remind  you  of  the  fact  that  this  is  the 
AGE  of  the  NEW  AUTHOR!     His  opportunity  is  Ripe !     A 

28 


The  DRAMATIST 

demand  has  been  created  for  the  Native  product  and  producers 
are  willing  to  risk  their  capital  to  secure  such  financial  prizes 
as  "Paid  in  Full"  and  "The  Climax."  These  Plays,  however, 
were  not  the  virgin  efforts  of  gifted  men.  They  represent  the 
final  victory  of  a  long  lonesorne  struggle  with  the  subtle  se- 
crets of  stagecraft !  Numerous  failures  preceded  them.  Take 
courage.  Mr.  Dodd!  In  1850  Ibsen  manufactured  documents 
just  as  undramatic  as  yours ! 

SUDERMANN'S     ONE-ACT     PLAYS. 

Streaks  of  Light,  The  Last  Visit,  Margot  and  The  Faraway 

Princess. 

The  one  act  play  is  a  severe  test  of  the  author's  skill,  for  if 
properly  done  it  must  accomplish  the  purpose  of  a  full  even- 
ing's Drama  setting  forth  the  Conditions  of  the  action,  the 
Cause  and  the  Conclusion.  It  is  really  a  Drama  in  miniature. 
It  is  a  Gem.  Sudermann,  however,  does  not  endorse  this 
theory  in  this  new  group  of  one  act  plays  recently  translated 
into  the  English  under  the  title  of  "Roses"=^.  In  fact  he  does 
not  make  a  great  difference  between  Drama  and  Story  ex- 
cept for  the  Dialogue.  These  specimens  do  not  speak  well 
for  the  progress  of  German  Dramatic  Composition  if  Suder- 
mann is  taken  as  a  criterion  and  he  is  recognized  in  that  coun- 
try as  one  of  the  leading  exponents  of  dramatic  literature. 
They  do  not  compare  favorably  with  the  best  English  or 
American  standards  and  are  behind  the  age  in  most  of  the 
technical  attributes  which  characterize  a  brand  new  species 
in  the   evolution  of   Drama, 

"Streaks  of  Light"  approaches  nearest  the  mark  of  modem 
craftsmanship.  The  Theme  is  a  morbid  one  but  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  Playwriting  are  not  so  flagrantly  violated 
as  in  the  other  three.  There  is  excellent  Preparation  on  Page 
13  in  the  mother's  reference  to  the  mysterious  disappearance 
of  the  roses.  We  at  once  see  the  clue  that  will  lead  the  hus- 
band to  the  hiding  place  of  his  runaway  wife.  On  page  32  the 
author  employs  the  obsolete  method  of  allowing  two  persons 
to  converse  in  the  presence  of  a  third  character  struck  tempo- 
rarily deaf.  No  author  would  do  this  who  knew  how  to  sub- 
stitute real  art  for  the  subterfuge.  It  is  a  survival  of  that 
antiquated  form  which  relied  upon  speech  instead  of  the 
actor's  art  for  interpreting  the  author's  meaning.  All  of  these 
asides  and  aparts  belong  to  the  actor's  facial  or  pantomimic 
performance.  They  destroy  the  illusion,  if  uttered  aloud  un- 
der circumstances  that  would  not  be  reasonably  probable  in 
actual  life. 

*Chas.  Scribner's  Sons,  $1.25  net. 

29 


The  DRAMATIST 

"Margot"  is  a  gem  of  character  drawing  in  so  far  as  the  in- 
troduction of  the  persons  of  the  playlet  is  concerned.  On  page 
53  the  intimation  that  the  attorney  himself  loves  the  girl  is 
conveyed  in  the  subtlest  manner.  The  Scene  between  her 
mother  and  the  attorney  abounds  in  the  liveliest  germs  of  ac- 
tion. But  the  Theme  is  perverted  at  the  very  climax  of  the 
skit  and  its  possibilities  are  scattered  to  the  four  winds. 

After  the  author's  philosophy^  has  exposed  the  shallowness 
of  that  social  law  which  prescribes  that  a  girl  shall  marry  the 
man  who  has  betrayed  her  pven  though  he  be  a  veritable  beast 
and  after  he  has  created  a  wholesome  self-reliant  man  broad 
enough  to  rescue  this  girl  from  the  fate  her  own  mother  de- 
signs for  her — he  deliberately  abandons  this  Theme  transform- 
ing this  purified  girl  into  a  depraved  creature  of  base  appetite. 
This  is  no  part  or  product  of  the  premises  which  concern  the 
imperious  caprice  of  a  young  and  innocent  girl.  In  this  at- 
tempt to  spring  an  irrelevant  sequel  the  author  descends  from 
the  dramatic  to  the  most  ordinary  of  illogical  narrative.  It  is 
rank  Disunity! 

"The  Last  Visit"  is  another  example  of  transgressed  Unity 
with  a  surprise  introduced  at  the  end  which  in  slight  degree 
results  from  anything  that  has  preceded.  It  cannot  be  too  em- 
phatically impressed  upon  the  Dramatist  that  any  extraneous 
climax  not  a  healthful  outgrowth  of  the  primary  conditions  of 
the  play  is  diametrically  opposed  to  Dramatic  Law !  To  merely 
dismay  your  audience  is  not  to  win  their  confidence ! 

In  this  little  sketch  an  officer  has  been  killed  in  a  duel.  A 
certain  countess  is  supposed  to  be  the  cause  of  the  quarrel. 
The  countess  calls  to  secure  the  love  letters  she  had  written 
the  officer  and  snubs  a  young  girl  on  the  premises.  This 
young  girl  turns  out  to  be  the  officer's  wife  or  widow  as  it 
were.  Is  this  a  Play?  No!  It  is  merely  a  page  of  weird 
fiction.  The  author  sets  out  to  fool  us  and  succeeds.  He 
apparently  ignores  the  fact  that  the  basis  of  dramatic  action 
is  the  knowledge  of  preliminary  conditions  imparted  to  his 
audience. 

The  Play  is  conversational  to  a  degree  of  being  wordy. 
Little  really  happens  before  our  eyes.  It  is  all  talked  ABOUT. 
The  greatest  genius  under  the  sun  could  not  make  a  good 
Play  after  this  process.  There  must  be  a  predominant  Cause 
in  a  Play  and  we  must  SEE  that  all  things  evolve  around  it. 
Things  must  happen.  We  lose  interest  when  they  are  merely 
told  us. 

"The  Far-Away  Princess"  like  "The  Last  Visit"  is  mostly 
talk.  The  introduction  comes  to  us  from  parties  not  vitally 
concerned  in  the  action — the  landlady  and  her  waitress.  The 
piece  is  devoid  of  a  tangible  proposition.  Nothing  is  solved 
when  it  is  over. 

30 


The  DRAMATIST 

A  young  man  cherishes  the  ideal  of  a  princess  whom  he 
woos  through  a  telescope.  He  meets  a  very  ordinary  looking 
girl  who  proves  to  be  the  princess  and  his  ideal  vanishes. 
This  is  the  substance  of  the  thesis  of  this  sketch.  It  is  far — 
— far  away  from  anything  that  would  be  defined  as  dramatic 
action.  It  would  not  arouse  interest  either  in  the  reading  or 
the  acting.  It  is  the  result  of  affecting  exalted  purpose  in 
play  philosophy.  But  true  drama  can  only  be  conveyed  in 
the  simple  language  of  the  soul  and  such  attitude  toward  Art 
merely  dilutes  the  effect  strived  for. 

HOW    HE    LIED    TO     HER     HUSBAND. 
A  Four-day  Composition. 

Compare  the  foregoing  efforts  with  a  technical  masterpiece 
like  Shaw's  little  four  day  composition  "How  He  Lied  to  Her 
Husband."  See  what  the  skill  of  a  trained  dramatist  can  do 
with  the  most  hackneyed  of  situations — Husband,  Wife  and 
Lover. 

Action  begins  at  the  very  rise  of  the  curtain,  even  before  a 
word  is  uttered,  and  continues  through  every  moment  of  the 
Playlet.  Study  the  structure  and  you  will  note  that  the  panto- 
mime of  the  actors  interprets  the  author's  meaning  almost 
without  words.  This  is  the  crucial  test,  after  all!  What  story 
will  your  play  tell  to  the  deaf  mute? 

THE     GODDESS     OF    REASON. 

A  Product  of  Penmanship. 

Do  not  spend  two  dollars  for  the  printed  copy  of  this  Play 
unless  you  desire  to  read  a  delusion  in  blank  verse  that  has 
hypnotized  the  leading  actress  in  America  into  believing  that 
a  collection  of  scattered  phrases  and  pretty  speeches  consti- 
tute a  Play.  Julia  Marlowe  produced  this  piece  probably  for 
the  reason  that  she  saw  opportunities  for  much  talk.  For  it  is 
practically  talk — talk  from  cover  to  cover.  There  are  few  in- 
stances where  the  author  has  departed  from  the  story  telling 
method  which  made  her  "To  Have  and  to  Hold"  famous.  It  is 
true  the  thing  is  done  into  Dialog  but  not  in  a  dramatic 
sense  and  the  descriptive  method  is  carried  on  by  means  of  the 
characters  just  the  same.  There  is  little  or  no  play  construc- 
tion and  Scene  writing  is  a  principle  that  has  never  dawned 
upon  the  novelist.  Up  to  page  sixteen,  for  instance,  there  is 
not  the  slightest  glimpse  of  dramatic  action.  The  author 
merely  addresses  the  audience  through  the  agency  of  her 
characters  relating  the  conditions  upon  which  the  action  of  her 
composition  is  based.  In  a  well  made  Play  not  a  single  word 
is  uttered  that  is  not  compelled  by  the  relations  shown  to  exist 

31 


The  DRAMATIST 

between  the  characters.  This  story  meanders  along  with  no 
ultimate  purpose,  taking  first  one  course  then  another,  much 
after  the  popular  narrative  method. 

The  history  of  individual  characters,  who  bear  no  vital  rela- 
tion to  Plot  is  given  as  much  attention  as  an  essential  point 
and  on  the  other  hand  many  of  the  biggest  moments  are  al- 
lowed to  occur  offstage  or  between  Acts,  reaching  the  audience 
only  through  second  hand  chatter.  One  such  instance  is^ 
Yvette's  election  to  the  office  of  "Goddess."  How  did  she  get 
there?  Nothing  that  preceded  gave  us  any  reason  to  believe 
she  was  entitled  to  such  honors.  Another  essential  which 
should  be  seen  but  is  merely  heard  of  is  Yvette's  plea  for  De 
Vardes'  pardon.  Yvette  merely  tells  DeVardes  that  she  ob- 
tained his  pardon. 

There  is  a  systematic  way  to  go  about  building  a  Play.  It 
is  not  by  beginning  with  the  Dialog  as  Miss  Johnston  has 
evidently  done.  The  scenario  must  be  built  step  by  step,  each 
successive  Scene  denoting  material  progress  in  the  action. 
Miss  Johnston  sees  a  possible  stage  picture  and  she  jots  it 
down  whether  it  concerns  the  Plot  or  not. 

The  fact  that  the  piece  reached  production  proves  one  thing : 
that  even  an  actress  of  Miss  Marlowe's  intellect  can  be  de- 
ceived readily  by  alluring  opportunities  of  heroic  declamation 
irrespective  of  the  fact  that  these  recitations  are  not  substan- 
tial parts  of  that  completed  whole  familiarly  known  as  a  Play. 
And  this  talented  actress  was  highly  enthusiastic  at  the  time 
over  the  part  she  played  thoroughly  believing  it  good  dramatic 
material. 

Even  actors,  you  see,  would  do  well  to  learn  the  Art  of 
Playwriting.  It  would  enable  them  to  KNOW  a  Play.  And 
novelists  should  take  up  the  subject  with  all  the  reverence  of 
a  printer's  devil  aspiring  to  journalism. 

For  study,  read  the  knitting  song  on  page  115  reposed  in 
the  din  and  slaughter  of  French  revolution.  Note  on  the  same 
the  undramatic  way  in  which  Nanon  and  Celeste  talk  into  the 
audience  the  intervening  history  and  election  of  Yvette  as 
Goddess.  On  page  182  read  the  tiresome  soliloquy  and  see  if 
you  can  determine  any  possible  use  of  it.  Shakespeare  used 
soliloquy  we'll  admit,  but  that  doesn't  retard  the  law  of  evolu- 
tion in  playwriting.  Science  is  pointing  out  the  truer  way, 
dramatically.  "The  world  do  move"  and  Drama  keeps  apace 
with  it !  If  you  are  in  search  of  a  modern  Play,  a  pretty  safe 
guide  would  be  to  follow  the  dramatic  laws  which  in  this  Play 
Are  Not!  And  at  the  top  of  your  page  of  "Don'ts"  place  the 
taboo:  "Blank  Verse!"  As  far  as  Dramatic  quality  is  con- 
cerned it  is  a  snare  and  a  delusion. 

32 


The  DRAMATIST 

AN     ENGLISHMAN'S     HOME. 
Dramatizing  National  Defence. 

This  is  the  best  example  extant  of  Theme  for  Theme  sake. 
The  Play  is  simply  swamped  with  Them.e !  An  Army  Propa- 
gandist takes  advantage  of  the  psychological  moment  to  dra- 
matize a  public  sentiment — a  moment  when  England  is  all 
3gog  over  possible  invasion  by  Germany,  and  the  result  is 
success — for  that  moment! 

Taking  as  his  Theme  the  inadequacy  of  England's  National 
defense  to  repel  the  attack  of  a  formidable  adversary,  Major 
Du  Maurier  has  done  one  of  the  best  bits  of  atmosphere  ever 
achieved  on  the  stage.  But  it  is  not  a  Plav !  It  is  a  charade ! 
None  of  the  characters  employed  in  the  stage  pictures  are  en- 
gaged in  that  personal  conflict  which  in  itself  is  the  very  fibre 
of  Drama. 

The  remarkable  quality  of  his  portrayed  conditions  may  be 
seen  on  pages  15  and  16,  where  the  old  man  is  mastering  the 
technic  of  Ping  Pong  Art  to  a  microscopic  degree  of  perfec- 
tion; and  on  pages  12-15  where  the  young  folks  fix  the  impres- 
sion that  Football  is  life's  paramount  issue. 

Out  of  these  conditions  an  excellent  Play  could  grow  with 
the  care  and  attention  of  a  dramatic  gardener.  But  the  Major 
fails  to  bring  his  theory  down  to  personal  interests, — it  re- 
mains a  National  issue  and  a  Play  cannot  take  place  on  the  or- 
dinary stage  with  Nations  constituting  its  cast  of  characters. 

THE     FAITH     HEALER. 
A  Play  Without  an  Impression. 

No  better  example  of  the  absurd,  unreal  and  idiotic  Drama 
can  be  found  than  this  bit  of  artificial  character  study  written 
by  the  author  of  "The  Great  Divide."  What  is  he?  That 
is  about  as  definite  as  the  question  can  frame  itself  concerning 
the  principal  person  in  the  Play.  This  supposed  human  crea- 
ture is  so  utterly  intangible  that  it  does  not  appeal  to  a  mortal 
audience.  We  subscribe  to  the  dramatist's  invention  only 
because  it  is  based  upon  the  real — all  else  in  stage-land  is  rele- 
gated to  the  fantastic  or  fairy  tale  farce  and  opera. 

The  striking  feature  technically  in  this  piece  is  that  it  is 
practically  devoid  of  problem  or  proposition.  It  starts  no 
where  and  ends  in  mid  air.  There  is  noxnmg  at  issue — a  mere 
tale  of  a  faith  healer's  adventure.  The  author  strives  for  ex- 
alted Theme  but  aims  so  high  that  he  shoots  above  his  own 
head  as  well  as  ours.  But  Art  is  the  law  of  gravity  that  brings 
his  arrow  down  to  earth!  And  science  bumps  his  air  ship 
with  a  stilly  thud ! 

33 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  most  valuable  lesson  taught  by  "The  Faith  Healer"  is, 
that  the  author  avails  nothing  in  mystifying  his  audience. 
His  purpose  should  be  as  clear  and  straightforward  as  con- 
sistent logic  can  make  it.  To  bewilder  his  spectators  as  Mr. 
Moody  proceeds  to  do  in  the  third  Act  by  introducing  frag- 
ments of  the  past  career  of  his  heroine,  Rhoda,  is  the  wildest 
of  crude  Disunity!  He  leads  us  to  anticipate  all  sorts  of  en- 
tanglements regarding  her  thin-skinned  love  affair  with  the 
"healer"  by  flinging  in  little  inferences  that  the  Doctor  had 
had  an  affair  with  her  of  some  unclean  description. 

We  feel  in  a  very  vague  sort  of  way  that  some  sensational 
exposure  is  the  author's  intended  climax  but  the  whole  effort 
at  playwriting  is  so  ineffectual  that  no  enduring  impression 
of  any  nature  is  made.  In  fact  the  nearest  approach  to  a 
theme  is  "Unstable  equilibrium."  The  author  perhaps  wishes 
to  indicate  that  faith  healing  is  merely  a  fictitious  name  for 
positive  mental  suggestion  but  his  method  is  too  faltering  to 
carry  any  conviction  with  it.  The  moral  for  young  drama- 
tists is:    "Go  thou  and  do  otherwise !" 


COMPETITION. 

...DO    NOT   PREACH!     THE   PUBLIC    CAN    SECURE 
FREE  SEATS  IN  A  CHURCH! 

Manager  Savage's  Advice  to  Tyros. 


34 


AMATIST 


LUTHER  B.  ANTHONY,  Elditor 

Vol.  I.                              EASTON,  PA. 

No.  3 

QUARTERLY                           1910 

APRIL 

CHAIR     OF     DRAMATIC     WRITING. 
Need  of  Real  Plays. 

A  very  prominent  New  York  Theatrical  manager  would  be 
one  of  ten  to  contribute  $25,000  each  to  establish  a  chair  of 
dramatic  writing  in  an  American  University.  He  is  very 
much  in  earnest  on  this  subject  and  does  not  believe  that  any 
Playwright  ever  made  a  real,  genuine  success  until  he  first 
had  learned  the  rudiments  of  his  art. 

He  doesn't  believe  in  the  heaven-born  brand  of  pla5rwright 
— the  man  who  comes  down  to  the  office  in  the  morning  with 
one  finger  on  his  brow  in  a  high-art  pose  and  dictates  a  Play 
before  he  goes  to  lunch.  He  believes  pla5rwriting  is  as  serious 
a  profession  today  as  any  other  of  the  so-called  learned  ones, 
and  that  before  a  man  ventures  to  practice  it  he  ought  at  least 
to  know  what  he  wants  to  do  and  how  it  ought  to  be  done. 

"We  have  3500  theatres  in  this  country,"  said  he,  "not  to 
speak  of  one-night  stands.  We  have  more  actors  than  can 
find  work.  We  have  plenty  of  managers,  an  excellent  ma- 
chinery for  the  production  of  Plays,  all  the  money  that  is 
needed — far  more  money  than  can  be  utilized — a  vast  organi- 
zation ready.  The  one  thing  that  is  needed,  and  that  we  can't 
get  is  real  Plays.  Every  day  managers  produce  Plays  with 
which  they  privately  find  fault,  or  of  the  success  of  which 
they  are  in  doubt.  They  are  forced  to  it  by  the  dearth  of  good 
material.  Think  of  it;  the  really  successful  American  drama- 
tists can  be  counted  almost  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  It  isn't 
because  of  any  lack  of  the  raw  material  of  which  dramatists 
are  made,  but  because  that  raw  material  isn't  properly  trained. 
Before  the  budding  dramatist  learns  his  trade  he  is  apt  to 
starve  to  death." 

Plenty   of   Reward   Waits. 

And  he  is  ready  with  proof  that  the  successful  playwright 
can  depend  on  financial  rewards  which  few  of  the  other  pro- 
fessions offer  their  votaries.  He  mentioned  one  American 
author  as  an  example.  If  not  a  leading  author,  he  is  at  least 
the  most  voluminous  American  writer.  He  turns  out  fiction 
and  humor  and  pathos,  and  the  other  set  pieces,  as  fast  as  any 
other  writer  in  the  world.     It  is  rare,  indeed,  that  some  one 

35 


The  DRAMATIST 

of  his  stories  is  not  running  in  one  of  the  periodicals  which 
make  a  feature  of  fiction,  and  his  personal  clientele  is,  perhaps, 
larger  than  that  of  any  other  American  writer. 

"That  man  got  for  his  latest  story  $31,000.  Mr,  James 
Forbes  has  already  drawn  $60,000  in  royalties  from  his  play 
'The  Traveling  Salesman.'  He  has  received  more  than  $100,- 
000  for  'The  Chorus  Lady.'  Charles  Klein  has  drawn  several 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  in  royalties  from  his  various 
productions.  The  list  might  be  extended  indefinitely.  A  suc- 
cessful play  means  more  to  the  author  than  ten  years  of  suc- 
cessful practice  in  one  of  the  other  professions  in  many  in- 
stances." 

"I  read  everything  that  is  submitted  to  me.  When  a  play 
comes  in  I  number  it,  and  take  it  up  in  turn  in  my  moments  of 
leisure.  But — I  receive  from  1500  to  1600  plays  a  year.  Many 
of  them  may  be  dismissed  with  hardly  a  glance,  because  the 
writer  has  very  obviously  broken  every  rule  of  dramatic  con- 
struction. Others  need  careful  study.  I  give  them  that  study, 
because  I  believe  in  the  American  dramatist.  I  have  made 
money  in  producing  American  plays  by  American  playwrights. 
In  all  my  life  I  have  produced  only  two  English  plays.  They 
were  this  season's  crop — one  'The  Earth,'  and  the  other  'The 
Noble  Spaniard.'  Both  were  failures.  I  was  driven  to  them 
because  I  could  not  find  a  play  by  an  American  that  promised 
success.  Yet  in  a  large  percentage  of  the  plays  offered  to  me — 
in  the  rough,  so  to  speak — I  find  good  ideas." 

Good  Ideas  Poorly  Handled. 

"The  writers  have  happened  upon  a  great  theme.  They 
have  a  good  situation.  They  have  a  strong  central  idea.  But 
they  have  not  worked  it  out  in  such  form  that  it  could  be  pro- 
duced on  the  stage.  Many  of  them  would  make  excellent 
novels,  I  am  persuaded.  They  have  every  element  that  enters 
into  a  good  seller  between  green  covers ;  but  they  are  not  han- 
dled in  that  particular  way  that  is  demanded  of  the  drama — 
and  until  they  are  I  cannot  touch  them.  But  I  have  faith  in 
some  of  these  writers.  There  are,  perhaps,  a  dozen  young  fel- 
lows whom  I  have  'grubstaked,'  as  they  say  in  the  West.  I 
have  furnished  them  with  enough  money  to  go  on  with  while 
they  try  to  hammer  their  stories  into  dramatic  form.  I  may 
lose  money  on  them  all.  I  may  find  one  great  play  in  the 
bunch — and  come  out  a  winner  in  the  end." 

Nor  does  this  manager  believe  that  a  dramatic  author  may 
hammer  out  a  play  while  he  waits. 

"Too  many  people  quote  the  example  of  Dion  Boucicault," 
said  he  "who  wrote  'London  Assurance'  in  tv/enty-four  hours. 
The  best  authors  take  the  longest  time.     Fitch's  plays  would 

36 


The  DRAMATIST 

have  been  bettered  if  he  had  worked  them  over,  Pinero  is  lei- 
surely in  his  treatment.  He  lets  the  idea  for  a  new  play  mull 
in  his  mind  before  he  touches  it.  Thom.as  and  Klein  never 
attempt  to  turn  out  more  than  one  play  a  year.  There  are  20,- 
000  plays  written  in  this  country  every  year — and  perhaps  2 
per  cent,  of  them  are  really  successful.  There  should  be  fewer 
plays  written — and  more  good  ones." 

"What  good,  he  asks,  "is  the  endowment  of  a  theatre  if  no 
good  Plays  can  be  furnished  it?  Better  endow  a  m.eans  by 
which  the  covmtry,  that  wants  new  plays — is  crying  for  them 
— can  get  them. 

JUST    A    WIFE. 
Walter's  High  Water  Mark. 

Again  the  laurel  wreath  must  be  awarded  Mr.  Eugene  W^al- 
ter  who  has  surpassed  all  other  American  Dramatists  and  out- 
classed his  own  prior  efforts  in  this  latest  drama  "Just  a 
Wife." 

An  author  matures  only  as  he  rises  above  the  hidebound 
convention  of  the  society  he  lives  in,  to  a  position  where  he 
can  observe  the  human  condition  that  lurks  beneath  the  veneer 
of  form  and  custom. 

The  Dramatist  matures  only  as  he  rises  above  traditional 
theatric  situation  and  builds  about  the  bigger,  deeper  basis  of 
Theme. 

On  both  these  counts  Mr.  Walter  has  made  good  in  "Just  a 
Wife"  and  his  play  which  received  the  censure  of  critics  of  the 
immature  class  has  been  approved  by  that  higher  tribunal — 
public  opinion — and  if  it  does  not  make  a  long  run  at  The  Be- 
lasco  Theatre  it  will  simply  prove  that  the  Theme  is  above  the 
heads  of  the  average  playgoer.  In  other  words  the  length  of 
its  run  will  measure  the  length  of  New  York's  intelligent  play- 
going  public. 

What  is  this  Theme  so  highly  commendable? 

It  has  long  been  the  custom  of  a  large  majority  of  well-to- 
do  mothers  to  train  their  daughters  for  "just  a  wife"  and  noth- 
ing more.  Not  for  motherhood — not  for  womanhood — but 
sheer  wifery.    And  wifery  of  wealth ! 

Now  it  might  be  possible  to  show  up  the  suicide  of  this  cus- 
tom by  merely  parading  the  misery  of  some  such  marriage 
upon  the  stage.  But  this  is  not  the  province  of  Drama! 
Drama  is  Conflict  and  to  drive  home  his  argument  Mr.  Walter 
saw  that  he  must  engage  two  extreme  types  in  combat.  He 
knew  that  no  commonplace  contrast  would  awaken  the  moth- 
ers who  have  been  slumbering  peacefully  thru  such  criminal 
conditions  for  centuries. 

37 


The  DRAMATIST 

And  it  was  for  this  reason  that  he  chose  the  shocking  asso- 
ciation of  mistress  and  wife.  How  better  could  he  illustrate 
the  immortality  of  the  "just  a  wife"  system?  The  husband 
married  one  woman  who  had  nothing  but  her  beautiful  sex  to 
offer.  She  was  a  splendid  feminine  specimen!  He  gave  this 
woman  the  position  of  wife  but  gave  his  love  to  another 
woman  who  had  sex  plus — she  had  business  ability  and  strong 
personality  which  brought  the  husband  half  his  success. 

Both  women  were  selling  their  sex!  Here  is  the  horrible 
truth  of  his  Play!  It  is  not  the  wife  but  the  WOMAN  who 
makes  the  helpmeet.  After  six  years  of  thinking  the  legal  wife 
evolved  into  a  fitter  mate  and  succeeded  to  the  fuller  execution 
of  the  contract  she  had  agreed  to  fill.  Isn't  this  a  Theme  worth 
exploiting?  Isn't  this  a  blow  to  hollow  social  form?  Isn't  Mr. 
Walter  a  more  potent  preacher  than  any  dozen  parsons  in  the 
land? 

And  now  that  we  have  dealt  with  the  greatness  of  this  play 
let  us  turn  our  attention  to  the  imperfections  which  are  equally 
the  office  of  this  journal.  A  little  more  attention  to  physical 
anatomy  would  have  shown  the  author  the  true  structural  di- 
visions of  his  action.  Nothing  really  happens  in  the  first  Act 
as  it  stands,  and  it  is  therefore  not  a  correct  sub-division  of  the 
play.  Acts  I  and  II  set  forth  the  Conditions  and  should  consti- 
tute the  first  legitimate  division  in  the  structure.  The  drama 
really  gets  a  going  by  this  time  and  we  have  the  true  Begin- 
ning of  a  Play. 

A  similar  mistake  occurs  in  "Paid  in  Full"  by  the  same  au- 
thor, with  respect  to  the  third  and  fourth  Acts.  In  that  in- 
stance the  action  had  ended  with  Act  III  save  for  a  touch  of 
Theme  which  could  easily  have  been  interwoven  and  the  Con- 
flict closed. 

In  the  modern  simplicity  Play  three  acts  are  sufficient.  The 
author  may  deceive  himself  that  the  peculiar  nature  of  his  ma- 
terial demands  a  greater  number  of  divisions.  But  is  he  sim- 
ply lapsing  in  Art?  The  rightful  portions  of  a  Play  were  un- 
consciously named  by  Aristotle  hundreds  of  years  ago — "The 
Beginning,  the  Middle  and  the  End !" 

The  only  serious  lapse  of  Logic  in  Mr.  Walter's  Play  is  the 
character  of  Maxcy,  a  chum  of  the  wife's  brother  who  "butts 
in"  on  the  most  delicate  and  personal  domestic  occasions.  It 
must  be  that  the  part  was  tailor-made  to  afford  a  friend  a 
comic  opportunity.  For  the  fellow  does  please  even  though 
we  feel  in  our  bones  that  he  has  no  rational  right  in  the  Con- 
flict. But  how  many  other  plays  have  so  few  flagrant  foreign- 
alities? 

38 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE    CITY. 
Was  the  Work  Finished  by  Fitch? 

Although  Mr.  Fitch  may  have  drawn  the  general  outlines 
for  "The  City"  it  is  difficult  for  one  familiar  with  the  excellent 
technique  of  "The  Truth"  to  believe  that  this  master  American 
craftsman  finished  the  scenes  and  dialog  of  this  alleged 
"last  play." 

"The  City"  abounds  in  structural  transgressions  of  almost 
every  sort,  yet  technical  skill  was  the  author's  predominant 
faculty.  Hence  the  hesitation  in  accepting  this  crude  speci- 
men as  the  final  product  of  his  prolific  pen. 

Disunity  is  rampant  throughout  the  structure.  Theme  is 
one  thing,  Plot  another,  and  the  actual  success  of  the  piece  de- 
pends upon  a  tremendous  blast  of  dramatic  dynamite  which  is 
still  a  third  and  distinct  factor  in  the  divergent  ideas  which 
permeate  this  Play. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  this  article  to  show  that  the  Play  idea 
which  is  intended  to  conform  to  a  Theme  consistent  with  its 
title  is  distinct  and  separate  from  the  main  Plot  of  the  struc- 
ture, and  that  the  strongest  single  incident  Fitch  ever  wrote 
which  ends  the  second  Act,  constitutes  a  Conflict  all  by  itself 
that  could  best  be  presented  in  a  one-act  sketch.  These  three 
ideas  will  be  traced  out  to  their  solitary  unities  to  show  cause 
for  the  question:  "Was  the  play  finished  by  Fitch?" 

The  theme  which  endeavors  to  exploit  the  effects  of  the 
searching  spirit  of  city  publicity  upon  the  character  of  all  who 
come  within  its  walls  is  not  embodied  in  the  main  Plot  of  the 
Play.  The  story  that  contains  this  Theme  is  the  one  that 
opens  the  Play  showing  the  aspiration  of  a  young  attorney  for 
that  larger  opportunity  afforded  by  the  city.  After  the  father's 
death  he  goes  to  New  York  but  his  poHtical  career  is  headed 
off  by  an  exposure  of  his  own  moral  obliquity  (evidence  of 
which  is  not  brought  out  but  merely  talked)  and  this  story  is 
wound  up  with  the  young  man's  resolution  to  mend  his  ways 
and  begin  the  battle  of  life  on  a  clean  field. 

But  not  until  virtue  is  rewarded  is  the  curtain  allowed  to 
descend  for  at  this  juncture  a  beautiful  heroine  is  cast  at  his 
feet  without  the  slightest  warning.  She  assures  him  that  his 
past  life  is  no  obstacle  to  her  eternal  affection  and  all  ends  hap- 
pily. 

The  only  recent  blunder  of  like  magnitude  that  this  can  be 
compared  v/ith  is  a  similar  resort  to  sentimentality  in  the  last 
act  of  "Israel."  In  the  latter  play  the  happy-ever-after  was 
said  to  be  the  interpolation  of  an  American  carpenter.  Who 
knows  but  the  same  tinkerer  "finished"  the  Fitch  Play? 

The  second  story  is  by  far  the  most  effective  one  dramatic- 
ally.    There  are  fragments  of  it  entwined  in  the  Theme  story 

39 


The  DRAMATIST 

of  Act  I,  but  these  particles  could  easily  be  woven  into  the 
thirty  minute  sketch  which  embraces  most  of  the  material  in 
Act  II  ending  with  the  catastrophe  that  brings  down  the  cur- 
tain. This  sketch  has  nothing  in  common  with  Act  III.  It  is  a 
completed  action  in  itself  and  if  treated  as  such  would  unfold 
itself  as  follows :  A  young  girl  falls  in  love  with  a  man  em- 
ployed by  her  brother.  The  latter  knows  that  the  man  is  his 
illegitimate  half-brother  but  conceals  this  fact  from  him  and 
from  all  others  while  he  employs  the  illicit  relative  out  of  a 
sense  of  duty.  The  brother  learns  of  their  clandestine  mar- 
riage— an  hour  since — and  is  compelled  to  tell  his  employee- 
half-brother  of  the  terrible  mistake.  The  latter  refuses  to  be- 
lieve the  monstrous  secret  but  rather  than  have  the  brother 
tell  the  girl  the  truth  he  draws  a  gun  and  shoots  her  straight 
in  the  heart!  This  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  the  little  one- 
act  tragedy  but  there  is  much  more  by  way  of  a  morphine 
fiend's  frenzied  writhings  which  might  be  tacked  onto  the 
sketch,  just  as  it  is  spliced  on  to  the  play  proper,  if  mere  the- 
atric sensation  were  desired.  And  this  little  playlet  is  a  thing 
apart  from  the  first  and  third  acts  and  does  not  require  that 
part  of  Act  II  which  deals  with  the  brother's  political  career 
which  we  have  designated  story  :^i. 

There  is  a  third  story  which  retards  the  legitimate  action  of 
Act  II  and  consumes  much  of  III  while  it  makes  a  feeble  ef- 
fort to  conform  to  theme.  This  story  drags  in  details  of  the 
marital  corruption  of  a  second  sister  to  the  young  attorney. 
Her  husband  is  a  drunken  sot  who  provokes  a  little  comedy. 
But  their  divorce  and  reconciliation  has  about  as  much  to  do 
with  either  of  the  foregoing  play  ideas  as  does  the  comet 
Halley. 

These  three  stories  comprise  the  divergent  branches  of  Plot 
that  rend  the  Unity  of  the  whole.  The  only  one  that  partakes 
of  the  real  definition  of  drama  having  Conditions,  Cause  and 
Conclusion  is  the  second  one.  The  first  story  is  utterly  devoid 
of  Cause  for  in  the  original  the  Cause  of  the  second  story  is 
interjected  as  a  substitute.  The  third  story  is  a  mere  episode 
from  life  which  fails  to  assume  semblance  of  drama  in  any 
sense. 

Perhaps  Clyde  Fitch  wrote  this  play  but  his  earliest  and 
crudest  efforts  give  no  warrant  for  the  belief  that  he  could 
wander  so  far  astray  in  technic.  None  of  his  other  half  hun- 
dred plays  violate  the  canons  of  dramatic  art  with  half  the  fe- 
licity. His  ripest  efforts  have  been  models  of  good  construc- 
tion. If  this  master  craftsman  really  did  perpetrate  this 
artistic  crime  in  its  entirety  his  dramatic  conscience  m.ust 
have  been  deadened  by  the  roar  and  echo  of  the  one  big  scene. 

40 


The  DRAMATIST 

Profit  could  not  have  blinded  him  to  the  laws  of  his  Art.  It 
may  have  been  that  death  reached  the  mental  man  within  be- 
fore it  claimed  the  mortal  man  without. 


THE    TURNING    POINT. 
Most  Censured  Play  of  the  Season. 

Most  young  dramatists  are  prone  to  condemn  the  manager 
who  rejects  their  coveted  manuscripts  and  waste  their  years 
yearning  for  the  financial  wherewith  to  produce  their  own 
works  of  Art  "Just  to  show  him." 

We  wish  that  we  might  send  every  aspiring  author  in 
America  to  see  "The  Turning  Point"  so  that  the  prevailing 
notion  that  "money  makes  the  dramatic  mare  go"  could  be 
forever  discarded.  This  may  be  the  case  in  some  professions 
but  it  is  not  true  of  the  Theatrical  filly ! 

Preston  Gibson,  the  author  of  this  piece,  had  ample  funds 
to  give  its  production  every  financial  provision  of  success.  His 
effort  surpasses  the  average  amateur  offering  and  yet  it  failed 
miserably.  Why?  Because  it  is  not  a  Play!  All  the  m.oney 
in  America  cannot  bribe  the  play  going  public  to  place  their 
stamp  of  approval  on  something  that  does  not  appeal  to  their 
emotional  faculties,  and  this  is  precisely  the  fate  that  would 
attend  the  financially  forced  production  of  98  out  of  100  plays 
written  by  intelHgent,  yes,  highly  cultivated  men  and  women 
who  have  not  mastered  the  fundamentals  of  play  Construc- 
tion. 

Wild  disunity  abounds  in  the  main  Plot  and  punctures  the 
many  minor  plots  of  this  distracted  attempt  at  drama.  Condi- 
tions forecasting  a  dozen  developments  of  disonant  and  dis- 
tinct actions  are  reeled  off  thick  and  fast  in  the  first  few  min- 
utes of  Act  I.  At  the  end  of  this  act  no  palmist  or  conjurer 
could  say  what  this  play  is  to  be  about.  It  is  simply  a  mess — 
a  mix-up — and  there  you  are. 

In  order  to  clearly  convey  the  violations  of  Unity  to  those 
who  have  not  seen  the  production  it  will  be  necessary  to  out- 
line, primarily,  the  author's  possible  play  material.  If  he  had 
not  resorted  to  monstrosities  of  biplot  his  Problem  would 
have  been  as  follows : 

Conditions. 

1.  A  broker  buys  a  valuable  coal  land  for  a  mere  song. 

Cause. 

2.  The  owner  retains  the  only  right  of  way  to  market. 

Conclusion. 

3.  He  defeats  the  broker's  game? 

41 


The  DRAMATIST 

It  is  not  illogical  that  in  the  development  of  this  Problem 
a  love  interest  should  be  introduced  in  which  both  men 
are  striving  for  the  hand  of  the  same  girl.  Such  a  complica- 
tion in  the  execution  of  Plot  is  easily  legitimate  and  crudely 
outlined  in  the  play  as  presented.  And  so  much  of  the  native 
Plot  is  raw  material  for  a  splendid  play ! 

But  Mr.  Gibson  would  not  confine  his  efforts  to  the  con- 
struction of  a  play  of  normal  proportions.  He  would  not  stop 
here.  He  continued  to  pile  on  the  agony  thick  and  deep,  with 
sub-plots  and  counterplots  till  every  character  in  his  play 
ceases  rational  existence  and  becomes  a  theatrical  puppet  of 
artificial  stageology. 

Besides  the  legitimate  features  of  Plot  above  mentioned,  he 
"rings  in"  a  parodized  parson  and  his  matronly  inamorata:  an 
insipid  widov/  who  is  an  unscrupulous  flirt  (in  no  slight  de- 
gree attached  to  the  Plot)  :  an  entirely  separate  conflict  be- 
tween the  broker  and  a  juvenile  lover  centering  in  the  former's 
betrayal  of  the  latter's  sweetheart — her  abrupt  death  and  sub- 
sequent resurrection — all  of  which  is  foreign  matter  crudely 
TALKED  into  the  play  to  the  detriment  of  main  plot.  The 
parson's  inamorata  is  plunged  into  another  plot,  needlessly 
defiling  a  mother  with  the  embezzlement  of  her  daughter's 
funds  merely  to  float  still  another  plot  of  the  old-time  mock 
heroic  variety  wherein  the  daughter  is  forced  to  marry  the 
"heavy  villain"  to  prevent  her  mother's  name  "from  being 
dragged  in  the  dust." 

But  lest  you  think  absurdity  ends  here  let  us  relate  a  couple 
of  counterplots  whereupon  the  leading  lady  beholds  the  South- 
erner giving  counsel  to  the  juvenile  lover's  sweetheart  and 
straightway  proceeds  to  hate  our  hero  4ri,  and  at  the  same  in- 
stant the  juvenile  himself  sees  the  Southerner  "chinning  his 
gal"  and  storms  off  in  a  fit  of  jealous  rage ! 

If  a  contest  were  instituted  to  award  a  gold  medal  for  the 
most  flagrant  violation  of  the  law  of  Unity;  in  these  two  last 
mentioned  instances,  Mr.  Gibson  Avould  deserve  the  honors! 
No  loftier  examples  of  a  desecration  of  that  cardinal  principle 
could  well  be  invented!  And  yet  do  you  know  there  is  ma- 
terial in  this  chaotic  mass  of  incongruity  for  a  good  play? 

The  veil  between  playwriting  and  mere  penmanship  is 
sometimes  an  invisible  thread.  With  less  real  effort  than  the 
author  has  applied  to  this  imperfect  piece,  his  same  energies, 
properly  directed,  might  have  done  a  play  worth  while.  Re- 
member the  moral,  young  dramatist,  that  money  never  made 
a  makeshift  manuscript  marketable. 

42 


The  DRAMATIST 

ALIAS    JIMMY    VALENTINE. 

A  Photograph  of  Paul  Armstrong. 

The  proof  of  a  Plajrwright  is  his  play.  A  portrait  of  a 
writer's  playwriting  proclivities  is  plainly  depicted  in  the  posi- 
tive and  negative  qualities  of  his  work.  You  can't  get  away 
from  it — the  camera  doesn't  lie !  "Alias  Jimmy  Valentine"  is 
a  snap  shot  of  Mr.  Paul  Armstrong  and  the  likeness  is  won- 
derful !  It  does  not  portray  a  dramatist,  however,  but  a  clever 
workman  with  eye  and  ear  trained  for  detecting  the  possi- 
bilities in  another  fellow's  story.  He  is  more  the  curator 
than  the  creator.  The  play  reveals  both  his  ignorance  and 
aptness  of  Art.  It  proves  one  thing;  that  the  author's  method 
of  construction  is  not  a  safe,  scientific  system  but  a  loose  hap- 
hazard process.  He  begins  with  no  conscious  grasp  of  what 
he  is  about  and  thus  allows  irrelevant  absurdity  to  supersede 
the  fundamental  factors  of  Plot. 

In  order  to  demonstrate  this  assertion  let  us  reduce  the  play 
to  its  native  Problem — not  the  Problem  that  we  think 
best  but  the  one  that  actually  exists  in  Mr.  Armstrong's  ma- 
terial— the  one  broad  legitimate  syllogism  of  the  play  which 
should  have  governed  Unity  from  curtain  to  curtain.  We  will 
state  this  Problem  in  its  three  clauses;  Conditions,  Cause  and 
Conclusion. 


Problem. 

1.  An  ex-convict  baffles  a  detective's  attempt  to  identify 
him. 

2.  In  the  latter's  presence  he  is  compelled  to  pick  a  lock. 

3.  The  detective  is  so  pleased  he  lets  him  go. 

This  is  the  Problem  of  "Alias  Jimmy  Valentine,"  which 
in  other  words  might  be  termed  the  beginning,  the  middle  and 
the  end.  Without  some  such  working  plan  the  author  is  very 
apt  to  begin  somewhere  else  than  the  beginning  as  does  Mr. 
Armstrong  in  this  latest  play.  Instead  of  starting  with  evi- 
dence that  "Jimmy"  was  a  convict  he  takes  us  into  the  prison 
where  we  see  that  he  actually  is  a  convict  and  reviews  the 
whole  history  of  his  being  pardoned  just  to  work  in  some 
inane  episode  contained  in  his  scrap  book.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  Acts  I  and  II  appear  to  drag  heavily.  They  are  not  a 
legitimate  part  of  the  play.  The  real  play  does  not  begin  until 
Act  III  which  sets  forth  the  first  clause  of  our  proposition; 
that  "Jimmy"  is  an  ex-convict  and  that  he  successfully  baffles 
the  detective  who  is  hunting  him  down.  "Jimmy"  passes  him- 
self for  another  in  one  of  the  best  made  scenes  in  the  play. 

43 


The  DRAMATIST 

Nearly  all  of  Acts  I  and  II  are  taken  up  with  an  effort  to 
"ring  in"  a  pretty  little  romance  of  the  following  PLAUSI- 
BLE stripe :  A  girl  happens  to  visit  Sing  Sing  and  there  hap- 
pens to  recite  an  adventure  wherein  she  happened  to  be  res- 
cued from  one  bandit  by  another.  She  happens  to  be  the  niece 
of  the  lieutenant  governor  of  the  state  who  happens  to  call  at 
the  prison  with  her  and  they  happen  here  to  meet  the  identical 
hero  of  her  bandit  fairy  tale.  He  in  turn  happens  to  appear 
innocent  and  happens  to  be  pardoned  by  the  girl's  uncle  and 
happens  to  be  placed  in  a  position  of  trust  in  a  national  bank 
by  the  girl's  own  father  who  happens  to  be  credulous  enough 
to  take  stock  in  her  innocent  convict. 

Of  course  all  this  improbable  stuff  could  be  transformed 
into  Drama  by  proper  treatment  and  adherence  to  Sequence 
but  it  is  not  worth  while  for  it  is  not  in  keeping  with  Prob- 
lem! The  same  could  be  condensed  into  a  fev/  words,  if  ne- 
cessary, or  a  better  Condition  Precedent  could  be  invented 
v/ithout  consuming  two  whole  acts  which  even  then  fail  to  get 
the  play  going. 

Another  glance  at  Problem  will  show  that  four  acts  are 
not  required.  The  first  act  should  set  forth  the  Conditions. 
As  mentioned  before  the  conditions  do  not  call  for  the  past 
history  of  "Jimmy's"  imprisonment,  or  the  romance  of  his  res- 
cuing the  girl,  or  a  host  of  stunts  performed  by  the  inmates 
of  Sing  Sing,  or  Mr.  Armstrong's  theory  concerning  the  in- 
sanity of  criminals.  The  Conditions  merely  call  for  evidence 
of  "Jimmy's"  rehabilitation  and  the  efforts  of  the  authorities 
to  recapture  him  on  an  old  charge. 

The  second  act  should  develop  the  love  story  which  is  inci- 
dental to  "Jimmy's"  reform  and  lead  up  to  the  splendid  clim.ax 
where  he  is  compelled  to  practice  the  criminal  art  of  his  past 
"profession."  The  curtain  falls  at  the  moment  this  predica- 
ment is  realized. 

The  third  act  is  represented  by  the  fourth  act  of  the  original 
play.  "Jimmy"  is  seen  actually  operating  on  the  combination 
lock  by  means  of  touch  highly  sensitized  in  the  sandpapering 
of  his  finger  tips.  He  does  this  in  the  presence  of  the  detec- 
tive. There  should  be  some  logical  solution  of  the  action, 
however,  which  is  v/anting  in  the  original  play.  This  detec- 
tive who  has  journeyed  all  the  way  to  Illinois  to  secure  this 
culprit  announces:  "The  lady  needs  you  more  than  the  state 
of  Massachusetts."  And  calmly  relinquishes  his  prize!  Is 
this  drama?  If  a  detective  gives  up  a  prisoner  he  has  been 
seeking  for  years  there  must  be  some  valid  reason  for  his  doing 
it.  But  it  is  dishonest  to  dodge  the  issue!  Dramatic  dis- 
honesty ! 

How  easy  it  would  be  to  adjust  all  this  by  the  slightest  turn 
in   Plot.     In   the   play  a   child  wanders   into   the   vault   and 

44 


The  DRAMATIST 

"Jimmy"  must  pick  the  lock  to  save  its  life.  Let  us  intensify 
action  by  placing  the  sweetheart  in  the  vault.  She  was  in 
"Jimmy's"  arms  when  "Doyle"  the  detective  entered  and  she 
slyly  dodged  into  this  hiding  place.  "Doyle"  has  utterly  failed 
to  identify  "Jimmy"  although  he  is  morally  certain  of  his  man. 
He  has  gone  so  far  as  to  guarantee  "Jimmy"  his  freedom  if  he 
will  merely  show  him  the  subtle  secrets  of  his  craft.  "Jimmy" 
is  still  obstinate  in  his  declaration  that  he  is  not  the  man.  As 
a  last  resort  "Doyle"  slams  the  huge  safe  door  which  locks 
with  a  combination.  "Jimmy"  exclaims  that  his  sweetheart  is 
locked  in  there  and  that  he  does  not  know  the  combination! 
"Pick  it !"  challenges  the  detective ! 

Act  III  is  but  a  moment  later.  "Jimmy's"  fingers  itch  v/ith 
conscious  ability  to  do  the  old  trick.  It  is  too  late  to  mince 
matters !  We  hear  a  faint  cry  from  within !  The  splendid  feat 
of  the  criminal  locksmith  now  follows!  The  girl  is  rescued 
and  the  lovers  reunited !  With  some  degree  of  rational  proba- 
bility it  can  nov/  be  imagined  that  "Jimmy"  will  hold  "Doj'le" 
to  his  prom.ise.  He  has  shown  him  the  secrets  of  his  craft. 
This  is  an  exchange  for  his  liberty! 

There  is  one  other  detail  that  goes  to  show  the  eternal  vigil- 
ance required  of  the  Dramatist  who  would  observe  Logic  in 
everything.  It  is  the  matter  of  the  combination  lock.  Mr. 
Arm.strong  introduces  this  vault  as  a  new  one  recently  in- 
stalled in  the  bank.  He  has  undoubtedly  aimed  at  immunity 
by  placing  the  scene  out  in  Illinois.  He  has  not  gone  far 
enough.  Even  the  back-woods  banker  has  long  since  rele- 
gated this  sort  of  security  to  the  junk  heap.  The  village 
banker  has  his  time-lock  equipment  which  challenges  the 
smoothest  locksmith  in  the  business.  Nothing  can  persuade 
its  tumblers  to  turn  before  the  hour  set  by  the  clock  in  its 
mechanism !  To  meet  this  contingency  the  time  of  the  play 
should  be  set  back  to  a  period  when  combination  locks  were  in 
vogue  or  the  point  should  be  established  that  this  particular 
vault  is  an  obsolete  factor  in  the  bank's  security.  The  drama- 
tist who  is  sincere  in  his  Art  will  not  compromise  with  the 
slightest  detail  of  Dramatic  Fact. 

THE    LILY. 

A  Wretched  Structure  Artistically  Staged. 

No  better  instance  of  the  prevailing  paucity  of  good  plays 
can  be  cited  than  David  Belasco's  adaptation  of  this  deficient 
French  Drama.  Not  that  he  has  failed  to  see  his  opportunity 
to  create  one  great  scene  and  one  intensely  human  type  but  to 
the  artist  all  discord  is  painful  and  without  the  wizard's  in- 
comxparable  stage  management  this  piece  would  be  absolutely 
intolerable. 

45 


The  DRAMATIST 

Do  you  think  that  he  would  concentrate  all  the  powers  of 
his  craft  on  one  solitary  situation  if  he  could  obtain  Plays  that 
were  Drama  from  start  to  finish?  He  could  write  such  a  Play, 
to  be  sure,  but  he  is  a  very  busy  man.  He  hasn't  the  time  and 
when  a  vacancy  occurs  by  the  abrupt  end  of  another  produc- 
tion he  is  obliged  to  take  what  he  can  lay  his  hands  on.  His 
triumph  in  this  instance  is  not  the  Dramatist's  success  but  the 
stage  master's  achievement.  He  knows  the  call  of  the  mob  so 
well  that  he  can  bank  upon  a  single  moment  of  tremendous 
magnetism  portrayed  with  utmost  skill.  The  fact  that  few 
critics,  even,  saw  the  yawning  gaps  in  structure  speaks  vol- 
umes for  the  supremacy  of  his  craftsmanship ! 

If  we  were  to  accept  this  as  a  specimen  of  David's  original 
composition  it  would  simply  show  that  the  Dramatist  had  not 
kept  pace  with  the  procession  which  is  advancing  the  struc- 
tural standards  of  his  chosen  profession  at  break  neck  speed. 
And  heaven  knows  they  needed  advancement!  But  the 
adaptor  is  apt  to  be  blinded  to  the  flaws  of  the  original  writers, 
particularly  if  they  be  authors  of  renowned  fame,  and  again 
he  may  not  be  licensed  by  them  to  cut  and  slash  at  liberty. 

The  first  act  of  "The  Lily"  is  without  exception  the  most 
slipshod  construction  of  any  play  in  the  entire  Belasco  group. 
It  ranks  only  in  inferiority  with  Preston  Gibson's  "The  Turn- 
ing Point"  treated  elsewhere  in  this  journal.  There  is  no 
definite  purpose  in  the  act  and  the  few  Plot  essentials  that  do 
crop  out  in  a  desultory  fashion  give  little  evidence  of  the  keen 
oversight  of  a  master  mind.  The  chief  cause  of  the  ineffec- 
tiveness of  Act  I  is  that  it  performs  no  legitimate  function  in 
the  whole  play.  The  minor  elements  presented  in  it  are  so  out 
of  Sequence  that  Action  limps  with  a  crutch.  The  Act  does 
not  advance  the  Action  as  such  an  epoch  in  the  Plot  should. 
The  first  act  should  set  forth  the  Beginning  of  the  Play.  Many 
of  the  Conditions  given  are  not  essential  to  the  main  Plot  and 
could  well  be  left  to  inference  or  be  taken  as  a  matter  of 
course.  All  could  be  worked  into  Act  II  which  is  the  legiti- 
mate Beginning  or  first  Act  of  the  play. 

PROBLEM. 

Conditions. 

An  old  maid  has  sacrificed  matrimonial  chances  for  a  pater- 
nal despot. 

Cause. 
The  younger  sister's  happiness  meets  the  same  opposition. 

Conclusion. 
The  old  maid's  bitter  life  strengthens  her  to  defy  the  irate 
father? 

46 


The  DRAMATIST 

Of  course,  this  broad  structural  synopsis  does  not  prescribe 
what  course  the  working  Plot  will  take  but  it  serves  as  a  guide 
to  the  cardinal  requisites  of  same.  The  arbitrary  father  fla- 
vors the  thing  as  French.  No  Yankee  girl  submits  to  such 
tyranny.  The  foreign  point  of  view,  therefore  is  a  funda- 
mental in  Problem  for  without  this  basis  the  Plot  would 
have  no  foundation  to  rest  upon.  We  must  therefore  accept 
it  if  we  would  have  a  play  even  though  the  outrage  is  incon- 
sistent with  parental  obedience  as  we  practice  it  in  America. 

As  implied  in  the  Problem  the  old  maid's  sacrifice  is  neces- 
sarily a  matter  of  history  for  she  is  already  withered  wjien  we 
first  see  her  as  a  result  of  the  life  sacrifice.  This  Condition  is 
readily  established  as  the  Plot  proceeds  but  begins  with 
the  second  Act  of  Mr.  Belasco's  play  and  therefore  the  second 
Act  really  begins  the  Conflict.  It  is  the  valid  first  act. 
The  next  step  would  be  to  show  the  younger  sister's  clandes- 
tine love  affair  against  the  background  of  the  fossilized  old 
wretch  of  a  father  who  would  almost  eat  the  child  alive  that 
ran  counter  to  his  pleasure ! 

At  this  point  the  degenerate  French  standard  has  made  the 
girl's  lover  a  married  man  who  has  no  right  to  love  her.  This 
moral  slope  could  well  be  eliminated  for  there  is  abundant 
Plot  material  in  the  powerful  climax  which  takes  its  origin  in 
the  old  maid's  motherly  protection  from  the  father  of  the  lit- 
tle sister  who  has  loved  without  license  in  her  natural  effort  to 
escape  the  old  man's  rule.  In  a  stricter  sense  even  to  mar  the 
girl's  chastity  might  be  deemed  Disunity,  It  adds  spice  to 
the  scene  but  the  line  between  legitimate  drama  and  effect  for 
effect's  sake  is  sometimes  difficult  to  discern.  The  great  force 
of  the  scene  is  the  operation  of  the  second  law  of  Nature — the 
love  of  parent  for  child — which  is  portrayed  in  this  motherly 
old  maid's  affection  for  her  child-sister.  Through  the  medium 
of  this  girl  she  craves  the  realization  of  the  love  that  was  lost 
to  her.  It  is  now  the  only  outlet  of  that  pent  up  affectation  in 
her  bosom  which  in  youth  had  been  crushed  out  by  the  iden- 
tical tyrant  who  now  attempts  a  repetition  of  such  arbitrary 
rule. 

There  is  much  to  admire  in  Act  III,  The  superb  gradation 
with  which  the  girl's  confession  is  wrung  from  her  lips — little 
by  little — is  a  height  of  Art  most  worthy  of  Belasco.  The  old 
maid's  final  rise  to  the  defence  of  her  tender  little  sister  is  a 
scene  that  will  live  with  indelible  life  in  the  minds  of  the  spec- 
tator. There  is  every  temptation  to  let  loose  here,  tooth  and 
nail !  The  audience  is  ready  to  riddle  the  old  rascal  them- 
selves. But  the  restraint  with  which  the  moment  is  handled! 
Ah!  There's  the  Art!  Most  any  author  must  have  shown 
his  teeth  a  trifle!     But  the  cold  full  tones  that  emanate  and 

47 


The  DRAMATIST 

echo  from  the  years  of  wretched  subjugation  suffered  by  this 
poor  woman  penetrate  the  soul  and  find  a  sympathy  that  is 
the  personification  of  DRAMA ! 

Now  after  such  a  tribute  to  the  skill  of  this  workman  our 
comment  on  the  paucity  of  plays  might  be  a  trifle  incoherent. 
But  we  said  good  plays.  And  by  a  good  play  is  meant  a  uni- 
formly well  built  drama  of  specific  Theme  and  purpose  which 
sets  about  unfolding  its  Conditions,  developing  its  Cause  and 
attaining  its  Conclusion  in  a  simple,  subtleized,  straightfor- 
ward fashion.  This  definition  does  not  admit  a  makeshift 
hastily  patched  up  merely  to  SELL  to  the  public  a  few  power- 
ful scenes  no  matter  what  their  effectiveness.  Mr.  Belasco 
can  construct  a  good  play,  we  are  certain.  But  this  case  is 
much  like  that  of  Mr.  Fitch  with  "The  City."  If  America's 
foremost  stage  master  had  much  to  do  with  "The  Lily"  his 
mind  was  dazzled  by  the  one  culminating  moment  of  stupend- 
ous dramatic  magnitude ! 


THE     BARRIER. 
Presbrey's  Dramatization  of  Beach's  Novel. 

"The  Barrier"  is  an  example  of  good  Play  material  so  bun- 
gled in  one  instance  of  the  dramatization  as  to  impair  its  effec- 
tiveness. If  properly  treated,  however,  there  is  little  hope  for 
such  a  Play.  Undisguised  melodrama  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 
This  thrilling  tale  of  border  life  fails  to  produce  the  illusion  of 
reality  upon  a  tenderfoot  audience. 

Its  failure  is  not  entirely  a  matter  of  vogue,  however.  There 
are  technical  reasons  why  "The  Barrier"  does  not  grip  with 
the  power  inherent  in  it.  The  chief  of  these  causes  lies  in  the 
fact  that  the  cart  is  hitched  before  the  horse.  We  get  effect 
before  cause. 

Long  before  there  is  any  reason  assigned  for  "John  Gale's" 
trepidation  we  see  terror  written  in  every  move  he  makes. 
This  is  not  Action.  It  is  a  flagrant  violation  of  Sequence.  Our 
sympathies  are  solicited  before  we  have  a  knowledge  of  the 
source  of  this  old  man's  anxiety.  In  other  words  the  first  es- 
sential of  Action  is  omitted.  "What  the  audience  does  not  know 
it  cannot  act  upon  and  an  undefined  danger  is  not  capable  of 
arousing  Action.  The  information  that  is  necessary  to  our  in- 
telligent comprehension  of  Acts  I  and  II  does  not  cross  the 
footlights  till  Act  III.  Here  we  find  out  that  "Gale"  was 
charged  with  murder  actually  committed  by  another.  This  is 
one  of  the  first  conditions  that  should  have  been  established  in 
Act  I.  It  is  not  one  of  the  elements  of  doubt  that  need  be  held 
in  solution  for  the  climax  of  the  play.  It  is  precedent  fact  that 
is  necessary  to  the  interpretation  of  Plot. 

48 


DRAM 


Here  we  get  the  difference  between  the  dramatist's  and  the 
storyteller's  treatment.  The  latter  may  build  his  conflict  be- 
tween himself  and  the  reading  public — the  former  must  make 
his  struggle  between  the  characters  on  the  stage.  The  novel- 
ist may  spring  all  sorts  of  surprises  on  his  reader  whereas  to 
bewilder  your  auditor  is  to  deal  a  deathblow  to  Drama.  This 
does  not  mean  that  the  playwright  must  tell  his  audience  how 
he  is  going  to  solve  the  problem  of  his  play  but  that  he  cannot 
obey  the  laws  of  his  Art  and  allow  characters  to  perform 
stunts  that  are  unintelligible.  You  will  find  spectators  con- 
stantly asking  WHY.  A  play  is  a  rational  structure  and  each 
particle  in  its  building  must  be  recognized  as  belonging  to  the 
whole.  To  introduce  the  minutest  atom  of  foreign  or  incoher- 
ent matter  merely  confuses  the  auditor  needlessly. 

This  one  instance  of  structural  deficiency  is  cited  not  be- 
cause it  is  the  only  one  but  because  it  is  of  magnitude  suffi- 
cient to  destroy  any  play  written.  "The  Barrier"  abounds  in 
trifling  incongruities  but  on  the  whole  is  a  remarkably  well 
built  drama.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  New  York  does  not  want 
melodrama  in  the  nude  state  we  believe  that  this  play  would 
have  made  a  better  showing  had  the  one  cardinal  weakness 
been  rectified.  The  Plot  for  the  most  part  is  admirably  con- 
ceived and  more  skill  is  manifested  than  in  many  of  the  more 
successful  plays  now  running. 


INCONSTANT    GEORGE. 

An  Insipid  Horse-play  Farce. 

The  specimens  of  French  plays  seen  here  this  season  do  not 
sustain  the  supremacy  of  technic  heretofore  accredited  the 
dramatists  of  that  nation.  "Inconstant  George"  at  least  is  not 
a  good  type  in  its  American  raiment.  But  there's  the  rub.  We 
never  know  how  much  the  original  has  been  robbed  when  it 
has  passed  through  the  importing  processes  of  translation  and 
transplantation.  For  the  French  point  of  view  and  moral  stan- 
dard will  not  fit  the  American  audience  without  considerable 
modification. 

Bronson  Howard  once  wrote  a  farce  "Saratoga"  as  insipid 
as  "Inconstant  George."  He  was  writing  then,  however,  a 
style  fully  up  to  the  times.  No  sane  manager  would  attempt 
to  stage  "Saratoga"  today  without  labeling  it  a  relic  of  an- 
tiquity. It  fitted  the  unevolved  audience  of  former  days  who 
assembled  to  witness  the  antics  of  the  actors  punctuated  with 
occasional  puns.  That  audience  has  passed  with  the  contem- 
porary species  of  drama  that  suited  it  and  the  dramatist  who 
goes  along  writing  the  obsolete  form  must  hope  for  a  fossil- 
ized producer  to  appreciate  his  plays.     He  must  also  look  for 

49 


The  DRAMATIST 

an  antediluvian  actor  to  take  the  part.  Poor  old  "Uncle"  John 
Drew  hobbles  obediently  through  the  role  of  "George"  with 
the  perfunctory  pitifulness  of  a  well  trained  work  horse. 

Like  "Israel"  this  play  opens  with  the  clumsy  three-ring 
circus  introduction.  There  are  four  women  and  three  men  on 
stage  of  whom  we  know  nothing  and  care  less.  These  people 
whom  we  do  not  know  talk  of  others  we  have  not  seen  and 
the  auditor  who  has  lost  the  art  of  making  up  the  deficit  by 
continual  reference  to  his  program  is  adrift.  He  cannot  see 
all  that  is  going  on  in  the  "three  rings"  with  an  eye  that  has 
been  trained  to  observe  a  solitary  story  simply  told  where 
every  atom  of  acting  is  self-explanatory. 

There  is  no  coherent  Plot  to  this  silly  farce  and  the  wobbly 
structure  defies  analysis  on  legitimate  standards.  It  is  a  con- 
glomeration of  marital  infidelity,  horse-play  and  snatches  of 
vaudeville  and  burlesque.  It  would  not  even  serve  as  a  com- 
prehensive negative  model  for  study.  The  structural  infringe- 
ments are  too  wide  of  technical  definition.  At  best  the  thing 
is  a  hopeless  relic  of  antiquity. 

SALVATION    NELL. 
A  Hopeless  String  of  Dissociated  Episodes. 

With  the  popular  amateur  misconception  that  a  succession 
of  disconnected  episodes,  occasional  uproar  and  haphazard 
happenings  constitute  that  dramatic  Action  known  as  a  play, 
Mr.  Sheldon  did  his  best  to  live  up  to  the  highest  ideal  of 
drama  visible  to  the  naked  eye  at  the  time  he  wrote  this  piece. 

For  in  this  Art  as  in  all  others  we  must  see  the  image  be- 
fore we  can  give  expression  to  it.  The  only  part  of  the  dra- 
matic picture  that  penetrated  Mr.  Sheldon's  comprehension 
was  that  curious  little  flirt  of  the  brush  which  distributes  the 
pigment.  And  he  was  in  no  wise  watchful  of  where  he  applied 
it.  A  dab  on  the  canvas  or  one  on  the  wall  was  immaterial  to 
him.  Any  old  swish  of  the  brush  only  so  it  simulated  the  ex- 
pert stroke  of  the  painter. 

This  play  belongs  to  the  spineless  species  for  it  has  no 
structural  backbone.  It  has  no  central  support  for  the  ana- 
tomy. The  connecting  cartilage  is  also  missing.  The  one 
common  characteristic  contained  in  every  real  play  from 
Sophocles  to  Shakespeare,  from  Shakespeare  to  Sheldon  IS 
NOT  THERE! 

A  slum  girl  loves  a  worthless  convict  who  is  sent  to  prison 
for  accidental  murder  leaving  her  the  mother  of  his  child. 
She  is  rescued  by  a  Salvation  sister  (in  a  very  thrilling  mo- 
ment of  the  triumph  of  good  over  evil).  "Jim,"  the  convict,  re- 
turns and  drags  poor  Nell  from  her  pedestal.  After  a  ram- 
bling conflict  between  them  she  crawls  back  to  the  higher 

50 


The  DRAMATIST 

plane  and  in  a  most  humorous  duet  with  her  young  son  prays 
for  the  forsaken  criminal  father.  An  attempt  is  made  to  show 
that  this  prayer  is  materialized  and  "J^"^"  joins  the  "Army." 

This  is  the  nearest  approach  to  Plot — though  it  is  not  Plot 
for  it  lacks  the  one  fundamental  factor  CAUSE!  There  is  no 
suggestion  of  underlying  Cause  for  the  completed  Action. 
Without  Cause  there  can  be  no  Conclusion.  Without  this 
prime  requisite  the  most  skillful  Dramatist  on  earth  could  not 
produce  a  plausible  play. 

To  illustrate  more  clearly  the  missing  link  in  the  three  loop 
chain  of  Problem  we  will  devise  an  imaginary  CAUSE  that 
would  make  this  play  conform  to  the  elementary  Law  of 
Structure,  the  only  suggestion  of  which,  in  the  original,  is  the 
supposed  efficacy  of  prayer  which  is  a  new  means  of  placing 
God  in  the  cast  of  characters. 

PROBLEM. 

Conditions. 

A  convict  loves  a  slum  girl  who  becomes  the  illicit  mother 
of  his  child- 
Cause. 

She  is  raised  to  a  higher  moral  plane  which  causes  her  to 
be  repelled  at  her  former  suitor. 

Conclusion. 
Her  repulse  awakens  the  dormant  manhood  within  him. 

Do  you  see  the  slight  turn  that  converts  an  indefinite  noth- 
ing into  a  precise  something?  It  is  only  necessary  to  change 
the  rambling  uncertainty  of  Nell's  attitude  toward  this  con- 
vict into  a  decided  refusal  to  consider  him  in  his  present  de- 
pravity, to  transform  mere  narrative  into  dramatic  Action. 
There  is  a  problem — something  to  be  done — something  to  be 
solved.  Instead  of  relying  on  the  heavenly  power  to  reform 
poor  "Jim"  we  come  down  to  earth  and  rehabilitate  him  by  hu- 
man means.  For  Drama  is  a  conflict  between  human  wills — 
not  between  superhuman  and  human.  The  superhuman  is  not 
susceptible  of  convincing  presentation  upon  the  stage. 

In  addition  to  Structural  neglect,  "Salvation  Nell"  abounds 
in  absurdities  of  all  sorts.  The  goat  love  of  Nell  for  this 
wretch  of  a  convict  is  an  example  of  carnal  lust  unfit  for  pub- 
lic presentation.  Particularly  is  this  true  when  the  chimpan- 
zee sphere  of  affection  is  uncalled  for  in  Plot.  The  prayer  re- 
ferred to  is  a  most  preposterous  thing.  The  concert  cackle  of 
mother  and  son  could  produce  nothing  save  emotions  of  mirth 
and  sacrilege.  The  effort  to  stir  up  a  counter  affection  of  one 
of  the  Salvation  officers  for  "Nell"  is  misapplied  invention  and 

51 


The  DRAMATIST 

dangerous  disunity.  A  telephone  episode  where  "Nell"  threat- 
ens to  call  up  the  police  and  expose  "Jim"  is  illogical  farce. 
Why  wouldn't  this  dare-devil  pulverize  the  telephone  with 
one  pass  of  his  brawny  fist?  As  an  accompaniment  for 
the  prayer  Providence  throws  in  a  thunderstorm  for  full  mea- 
sure. Anything  plumped  in  after  this  fashion  merely  reveals 
the  will  of  the  author — it  never  becomes  a  part  of  the  play. 
Against  such  feeble  Action  a  prostitute  stands  out  as  the  one 
bit  of  virile  truth  in  the  Plot.  We  have  been  so  bored  with 
irrelevant  stuff  that  we  welcome  the  harlot  in  contrast  who  is 
at  least  consistent  with  herself. 

In  Act  III  the  issue  is  helplessly  adrift!  Several  sub-plots 
scramble  for  momentary  existence  but  no  sign  of  the  main 
Plot  is  in  sight.  Of  course,  the  absence  of  Cause  obviates  a 
Conclusion  and  no  definite  solution  can  be  reasonably  ex- 
pected. There  is  no  Sequence  of  events  in  this  act.  We  flit 
from  one  incongruity  to  another.  The  lovers  wish  to  make 
love  in  the  public  street  and  the  playwright  waves  his  magic 
wand !  All  of  the  hundred  heads  that  hung  from  the  windows 
a  moment  before  now  kindly  duck  and  the  accommodating  fruit 
man  deserts  his  stand  leaving  his  wares  an  open  treat  to  the 
boys  of  the  Bowery.  All  is  quiet!  Save  the  cooing  of  the 
lovers  and  the  steady  beating  of  the  pulse  of  common  sense — 
"False!  False!  False!  For  an  audience  will  feel  the  fake  if 
they  cannot  define  their  feelings. 

From  curtain  to  curtain  in  this  final  act  there  is  not  the 
feeblest  breath  of  Dramatic  Action  to  sustain  or  stimulate  in- 
terest. The  play  with  no  beginning,  with  no  middle  part — can 
have  no  end!  The  three  clauses  of  Problem  are  so  cor- 
related and  interdependent  that  one  cannot  exist  without  an- 
other— without  the  other  two. 

Moral:  Let  PROBLEM  Rule  Supreme! 


THE    MAN    WHO    STOOD    STILL. 

Not  a  Play. 

Several  subscribers  have  requested  an  analysis  of  "The 
Man  Who  Stood  Still,"  but  we  regret  to  admit  our  inability  to 
perform  such  an  operation  on  something  that  is  not  a  play. 
The  piece  was  evidently  a  hasty  pudding  made  as  a  vehicle 
for  Mr.  Louis  Mann's  eccentric  acting.  It  appears  to  be  a 
hodge-podge  of  particles  copied  from  successful  plays  such  as 
"The  Music  Master"  and  "Way  Down  East."  There  is  pain- 
ful effort  at  Action  but  little  or  no  success  in  the  creation  of 
that  subtle  principle.  The  promulgators  of  the  piece  seem  to 
have  confused  activity  with  Action.     Every  character  bustles 

52 


The  DRAMATIST 

about  with  undue  attempt  at  excitement  but  this  is  not  Dra- 
matic Action,  The  piece  is  of  the  old  school  of  many-story 
drama  which  is  now  obsolete.  Its  only  possible  value  to  the 
student  is  its  example  of  the  sort  of  drama  to  be  avoided. 

YOUR  VOTE  COUNTS. 

Each  subscriber  is  invited  to  express  his  preference  of  the 
plays  to  be  treated  technically  in  "The  Dramatist"  from  time 
to  time.  If  your  selection  does  not  appear  in  the  list  you  will 
know  it  is  for  one  of  two  reasons.  Either  that  we  are  un- 
able to  see  the  play  for  purposes  of  analysis  or  that  a  larger 
majority  of  votes  have  been  cast  in  favor  of  the  ones  criticized. 

"WORLD"    PRIZE    PLAY. 

$500  Prize  Awarded  a  Modem  Play  Idea. 

The  great  lesson  to  be  learned  from  the  New  York  "World" 
prize  contest  award  is  that  a  picked  board  of  Judges  selected 
the  New  Type  of  Drama  with  a  single  centred  story,  devoid 
of  all  suggestion  of  sub-plot,  confining  every  moment  to  the 
ONE  Theme  and  thought  contained  in  the  Problem,  which 
is  as  follows: 

PROBLEM. 

Conditions. 

To  relieve  the  poverty  of  the  household  a  mother  resumes 
her  professional  work  as  an  actress.    Her  child  dies. 

Cause. 

Piqued  by  her  superiority  the  husband  charges  her  with 
maternal  neglect. 

Conclusion. 

Will  she  tolerate  this  monster  of  selfishness? 

Here  is  a  foundation  for  a  play  intensely  human  and  real- 
istic. The  dramatist  (for  she  has  well  earned  her  title  to  the 
distinction)  has  eliminated  all  silly  sentimentality  and  clung 
to  the  legitimate  purpose  of  propounding  her  One  Straight- 
forward Story  of  this  husband  and  wife.  The  people  are  real 
creatures  of  the  sort  she  has  seen  and  known  and  no  effort  is 
made  to  besmear  them  with  a  varnish  of  theatric-ideality. 
They  LIVE  and  breathe  the  same  air  continually  inhaled  by 
the  spectator  and  for  this  reason  will  bind  the  interest  of  the 
audience. 

Mrs.  Martha  Fletcher  Bellinger,  the  winner  of  this  remark- 
able prize,  has  made  one  serious  mistake  in  the  Scenario  draft 
of  her  Play  idea.    The  Action  is  divided  into  four  Acts  where 

53 


The  DRAMATIST 

the  material  calls  for  but  three.  Instead  of  a  first  act  to  show 
the  poverty  of  the  home  and  the  mother's  decision  to  resume 
her  stage  career;  a  second  act  to  portray  her  stage  success, 
interrupted  by  the  terrible  news  of  her  baby's  fatal  illness;  a 
third  act  for  the  husband's  charge  of  ambitious  neglect  and  a 
fourth  act  to  end  this  struggle;  she  should  divide  the  Action 
as  follows: 

Act  I.  and  Act  II.  same  as  original. 

Act  III.  Husband's  charge  of  neglect  really  actuated  by 
pique  at  her  superior  talents.  Wife's  meek  decision  to  resign 
stage  career.  Further  despotism  which  causes  wife  to  desert 
this  selfish  wretch. 

Here  the  Action  ends  as  finally  as  Problem  can  pre- 
scribe ;  Any  attempt  to  attach  further  complications  merely 
threaten  the  beginning  of  another  play  in  Act  IV  which  is  so 
clearly  the  case  in  "Paid  in  Full"  and  "The  Third  Degree." 
It  is  a  great  thing  to  know  when  to  stop !  Problem  tells 
you.  Just  to  achieve  the  happy  ending,  the  author  of  this 
prize  play  expects  to  "ring  in"  lover  for  the  wife  in  the  charac- 
ter of  a  playwright.  If  this  is  done  an  economy  could  be  at- 
tained by  making  a  composite  of  the  stage  manager  who  em- 
ploys her  and  the  pla5rwright  who  writes  the  play  in  which 
she  is  to  star.  Another  structural  defect  that  will  probabjy 
receive  attention  under  the  advice  of  professional  management 
is  the  elimination  of  spurious  set  scenes  in  the  second  and 
fourth  Acts.  This  is  an  antedeluvian  form  seldom  resurrected 
by  modern  Dramatists! 

But  before  we  dismiss  the  subject  let  us  glance  into  the  his- 
tory of  this  woman  whose  work  has  won  favor  with  five 
worthy  judges  and  see  if  this  Scenario  was  a  thing  dashed  off 
in  a  fit  of  inspiration  or  the  result  of  careful  study  of  the 
fundamentals  of  Drama. 

Mrs.  Bellinger  left  college  in  1892.  She  had  already  given 
much  thought  to  dramatic  and  literary  pursuits.  Year  after 
year  she  toiled  and  struggled  with  her  hobby  availing  the  best 
technical  advice  obtainable  until  she  finally  became  a  public 
lecturer  on  the  subject  in  the  schools  of  New  York.  Twenty 
years,  at  least,  may  be  reckoned  as  her  preparatory  period  and 
this  is  her  first  play  to  be  produced!  Does  this  look  to  you 
like  a  flash  of  genius?  A  spell  of  inspiration?  Or  the  re- 
ward of  work,  work,  work  ? 


54 


LUTHER  B.  ANTHONY,  E.ditor 

Vol.  I.                              EASTON,  PA. 

No.  4 

QUARTERLY                           1910 

JULY 

Enchained 

A  Rare  Specimen  of  Modem  Construction. 

It  may  be  deemed  an  assumption  on  the  part  of  an  Ameri- 
can to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  work  of  the  Grand  Prize  winner 
of  the  French  Academy,  but  even  though  the  French  pay  more 
attention  to  structure  than  any  other  dramatic  writers  in 
the  world,  they  have  yet  to  resolve  the  art  of  pla5rwrit- 
ing  into  a  safe  and  sound  science.  Of  course,  the  French 
moral  standard  is  bound  to  infest  their  drama  and  unfit  much 
of  their  best  product  for  American  presentation  despite  the 
maudlin  efforts  of  our  own  play  butchers  to  chop  them  to  fit 
our  stage.  But  the  ethics  of  any  play  should  be  measured  in- 
side the  limits  the  author  has  imposed  upon  himself  and  not 
by  any  external  standard. 

The  commendable  qualities  of  structure  in  this  play  out- 
number the  negatives  in  a  greater  proportion  than  any  manu- 
script we  have  reviewed,  comprising  a  list  of  many  thousands. 
The  fundamentals  of  Play  construction  are  observed  in  nearly 
every  instance  so  that  it  serves  as  an  excellent  model  for  the 
student. 

Drama. 

This  subtle  dramatic  agent  so  little  understood  by  the  ama- 
teur is  well  illustrated  in  "Enchained."  By  Drama  we  mean 
that  effect  produced  upon  the  audience  by  the  things  that 
HAPPEN  upon  the  stage.  If  you  want  to  see  this  principle  in 
full  operation,  calling  forth  doubt,  sympathy  and  suspense, 
read  Scene  VI  of  the  first  Act.  Note  how  the  constantly  drift- 
ing relations  between  these  two  characters  keep  interest  alive. 
Note  the  superb  dignity  and  extreme  fidelity  of  the  author's 
art.  The  Scene  is  brief,  so  brief  that  we  all  want  more  of  it. 
We  sit  in  breathless  suspense  wondering  what  is  to  come  of 
this  complicity. 

In  Scene  VIII  another  phase  of  Action  is  created  by  an 
opposite  course.  It  may  not  vibrate  our  sympathies  with  as 
much  delight  but  to  the  Plot  this  Scene  is  just  as  essential.  It 
promotes  the  Play.  It  is  a  decided  stride  for  progress,  advanc- 
ing the  completed  Conflict  perceptibly. 

55 


T       h       e DRAM.      ATIST 

Scene  VI  of  Act  II  is  fully  as  powerful  as  the  same  number 
in  Act  I.  No  one,  better  than  the  beginner,  knows  how  to 
make  a  sameness  in  all  Scenes  that  occur  between  the  same 
characters.  You  will  note  no  similarity  here,  even  though  we 
have  the  same  characters,  dealing  with  the  same  emotion,  but 
creating  an  entirely  new  effect  for  the  reason  that  there  is  in- 
finite progress  in  the  Conflict.  The  pot  is  boiling!  New  fuel  is 
thrown  into  the  fire  continually.  See  what  restraint  is  exer- 
cised by  the  dramatist  toward  the  end  of  Scene  VI  Act  II. 
How  readily  the  novice  would  have  thrown  them  into  each 
other's  arms,  thereby  destroying  that  potent  sympathy  in- 
spired with  the  audience  by  their  nobler  conduct. 

Scenes. 

Please  notice  that  the  Scene  divisions  refer  to  the  struc- 
tural units  and  do  not  mean  a  change  of  stage  setting.  This  is 
what  we  invariably  mean  when  we  speak  of  Scenes  in  techni- 
cal discussion.  Without  Scenes  there  can  be  no  Play.  A  Scene 
is  a  little  Play  in  itself.  Note  what  marvellous  headway  Her- 
vieu  makes  in  a  brief  Scene  of  less  than  a  page  at  times.  Take 
Scene  VIII  in  Act  I,  for  instance.  The  author  wishes  to  show 
that  Irene  keeps  her  promise  to  Michel :  "I  shall  forever  keep 
myself  for  myself."  Pages  of  dialog  could  not  accomplish 
what  he  does  here  in  seventeen  speeches ! 

And  strange  to  say  the  poorest  Scene  in  the  whole  play  is 
one  of  the  longest.  It  is  Scene  I  in  Act  III.  In  a  well  written 
Scene  there  is  not  a  word  of  the  dialog  that  is  said  with- 
out inevitable  Cause.  The  character  must  say  it,  either 
because  of  the  predicament  in  which  he  is  placed  or  by 
mere  reason  of  his  nature  of  which  we  must  have  seen  traits 
that  give  credence  to  his  utterance.  There  is  hardly  a  line  in 
the  above  mentioned  Scene  that  has  the  dramatic  force  back  of 
it.  The  words  are  there  because  the  author  wanted  to  get  cer- 
tain information  before  the  audience  and  for  this  moment 
lapsed  in  his  art  and  employed  the  amateur's  method  of 
TELLING  the  audience  first  hand.  Valanton  is  as  foreign  to 
this  Scene  as  the  king  of  the  cannibal  islands.  The  informa- 
tion that  is  pumped  across  the  footlights  should  come  out  in- 
directly and  inevitably  through  the  dialog  of  the  principals 
concerned.  There  is  nothing  doing  between  Valanton  and 
Fergan  and  where  there  is  nothing  at  issue  you  may  be  sure 
that  mere  rhetoric  and  inaction  will  result. 

A  splendid  contrast  to  this  flaw  may  be  found  in  Scene  VI 
of  the  first  Act.  Here  there  IS  an  issue.  These  two  beings  are 
in  Love.  Circumstances  are  keeping  them  separated.  The  pur- 
pose of  the  Scene  makes  it  throb  with  life  and  emotion !  Ob- 
serve this  difference  in  these  two  examples  and  you  have  the 
main  secret  of  Scene  construction,  which  is  half  of  the  art  of 
PlajAvriting. 

56 


The  DRAMATIST 

Sequence, 

And  now  we  come  to  the  gravest  transgression  of  principle 
in  the  Play;  an  effort  to  "ring  in"  a  factor  of  preparation  for 
subsequent  effect  at  a  juncture  entirely  out  of  Sequence.  In 
Scene  V  of  Act  I  as  Valanton  is  getting  ready  to  depart  Pau- 
line says :  "You  were  very  delicate  when  you  were  little,"  and 
Michel  admits  it,  citing  heredity  as  the  cause.  The  thought  is 
plumped  into  the  midst  of  another  Scene  where  its  violation  of 
Sequence  destroys  effectiveness.  And  the  hint  itself  is  a  very 
important  one.  Without  this  intimation  of  Michel's  affliction 
we  cannot  properly  comprehend  the  impending  catastrophe  in 
Act  III  when  we  see  the  son  of  Michel  the  heir  to  his  father's 
malady.  Lack  of  such  comprehension  dilutes  suspense,  for  the 
audience  should  begin  to  see  Fergan's  impending  doom.  If 
we  do  not,  the  rudiments  of  Action  are  at  fault ! 

But  this  preparation  must  come  in  somewhere,  you  will 
say.  Yes,  and  there  is  a  place  for  it,  just  as  there  is  a  real  har- 
bor for  every  thought  waiting  to  be  launched.  Look  at  Scene 
VI  of  this  Act.  Michel  is  going  away.  Irene  does  not  want 
him  to  go.  Wouldn't  it  be  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
for  her  to  advance  the  argument  that  he  was  not  strong 
enough  to  make  this  trip.  Michel  would  retort  that  he  was 
never  stronger,  that  this  delicacy  is  a  thing  of  heredity  with 
him.  All  the  more  reason  for  Irene  wanting  him  to  remaiy 
where  she  could  watch  over  him.  And  there  you  are!  The 
item  of  preparation  has  here  crept  in  without  obtruding  itself 
upon  a  foreign  Scene,  and  besides  fusing  with  the  dialog 
in  hand  it  has  served  to  advance  the  sentiment  of  the  Scene  of 
which  it  is  now  truly  a  part. 


Future  Study. 

We  dedicate  this  Play  to  the  sincere  student  of  the  Drama 
v;ho  wants  a  model  of  good  structure.  When  helplessly  adrift 
in  accomplishing  your  point  refer  to  this  masterpiece  and  see 
hovv  Hervieu  did  it.  You  will  find  few  patterns  that  will  serve 
as  veU. 

Ve  shall  refer  to  this  Play  from  time  to  time  for  illustra- 
tion, to  drive  home  our  discussion  on  principle.  Please  feel  at 
liberty  to  communicate  on  any  point  that  confuses  you.  If 
you  care  to  rewrite  Scene  I  in  Acts  I  or  III  we  will  analyse 
your  tffort.  These  are  the  two  weakest  Scenes  in  the  play. 
Persevere  and  study!  Look  upon  your  art  as  the  physician- 
candidate  contemplates  his  course  at  the  University.  The  dra- 
matic is  the  most  subtle  Science  of  them  all. 


DRAM 


ELNCH  AIN  ED 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 

By   Paul   Hervieu 

Translated  by  Ysidor  Asckenasy 

Copyright   1910  by  Ysidor  Atckenaty 


Characters : 

Michael  Davernier. 
Ferdinand  Valanton. 
Robert  Fergan. 
A  Servant  (man.) 
Rene  Fergan. 
Pauline  Valanton. 
Irene  Fergan. 

ACT  I 

The  Stage  represents  an  elegant  drawing-room.  In  the 
rear  a  conservatory.  Doors  at  right  and  left.  Lamps  lit.  Light 
as  for  small  reception. 

Scene  I. 

Irene,  Pauline. 

(As  the  curtain  rises  PAULINE  questions  her  sister  with 
tenderness.  IRENE,  agitated,  nervous,  traverses  the  stage  its 
entire  length.  The  men  are  smoking  and  can  be  seen  behind 
the  glazed  door  of  the  conservatory.) 

PAULINE. — Finally,  for  what  can  you  reproach  your  hus- 
band? 

IRENE  (with  vehemence). — His  incapacity  to  make  me 
love  him. 

PAULINE. — Whose  fault  is  it?  You  accuse  him  of  not 
loving  you.  Perhaps  he  could  answer  that  you  are  not  affec- 
tionate. 

IRENE. — Ah!  I  feel  that  I  would  know  how  to  cherish 
some  one,  if  that  some  one  for  whom  I  am  longing  with  all  my 
heart  would  only  come !  But  Robert,  after  ten  years  of  nar- 
ried  life,  of  life  in  common,  has  not  even  made  me  resigned, 
and  I  am  now  in  despair. 

PAULINE. — Ah !  when  I  saw  last  month  that  that  devilish 
law  of  divorce  was  voted,  I  immediately  thought  of  the  new 
stimulant  you  would  find  in  it;  you  and  all  like  you,  rry  poor 
Irene,  who  until  now  were  contented  with  making  s'mply  a 
very  bad  household 

IRENE. — I  was  never  satisfied. 

58 


The  DRAMATIST 

PAULINE. — Why  don't  you  arrange  your  life  differently? 
You  have  no  child  to  console  you;  go  into  society  to  amuse 
yourself.  Do  not  refuse  the  opportunities  of  being  outdoors  as 
much  as  possible.  Here,  in  this  house  so  excellently  planned 
for  receiving  guests ;  with  such  comfort ;  with  a  jolly  fellow  as 
a  husband  and  a  charming  woman  as  hostess, — you  should  be- 
gin to  entertain  again.  Reopen  your  circle,  which  you  have 
narrowed,  so  that  it  scarcely  counts  any  one  but  myself,  your 
old  sister,  not  exceedingly  amusing,  and  your  brother-in-law. 
By  and  by  have  an  occasional  evening  with  us. 

IRENE. — It  is  not  pleasure  that  I  need;  it  is  happiness.  I 
crave  and  weep  for  the  lack  of  it;  you  advise  me  to  take  only 
drugs. 

PAULINE. — I  repeat,  Robert,  no  doubt,  is  not  ideal;  but 
it  is  yourself  who  makes  your  misfortune,  with  your  dreams 
and  your  lively  and  excitable  disposition.     This  will  all  pass, 

alas !  and  sooner  than  you  know 

IRENE. — Can  you  reproach  me  for  being  different  from 
this  man  who  feels  enthusiasm  for  nothing,  who  revolts 
against  nothing,  who  is  nothing,  nothing  but  my  master,  for 

me 

PAULINE. — For  you,  who  are  ready  to  listen  to  every- 
thing, who  feel  all  things  passionately,  who  are  ready  to  live 
and  die  for  everything. 

IRENE. — I  do  not  pretend  to  be  of  a  superior  nature.  I 
have  no  vanity.  I  should  not  ask  my  husband  to  be  a  great 
man.  It  would  have  been  enough,  perhaps,  that  he  were  a 
man,  an  ordinary  man,  possessing  the  ordinary  virtues,  and 
even  vices,  but  also  emotions,  the  power  to  feel  pain,  to  be  in- 
terested in  life.  But  my  husband  does  not  give  me  even  the 
possibility  of  commiserating  him,  to  spend  for  him  a  bit  of  my 
heart,  which  is  so  large ! 

PAULINE. — Notwithstanding,  you  have  very  fine  occa- 
sions to  show  a  little  pity!  Just  see:  your  disagreements  in 
everything,  your  discords,  your  quarrels ;  see ;  There  is  much 
to  anger,  to  enrage  him. 

IRENE  (with  a  restrained  irony). — You  don't  know  him. 
Such  men  as  he  are  always  calm,  in  their  conviction  of  being 
right.  When  he  rises  in  the  morning  he  is  ready  to  be  right  all 
day.  He  is  right  with  the  servants,  with  the  horses,  with 
everything.  In  all  stories  that  he  relates  there  is  always  one 
who  was  wrong,  while  he  was  right. 

PAULINE. — He  is  not  right,  then,  against  you? 
IRENE  (wild,  sullen). — Yes!     As  a  husband  he  uses  his 
power  against  me  whenever  it  is  convenient  to  him,  but  with- 
out the  least  regard  whether  it  is  convenient  to  me. 

PAULINE. — I  take  the  liberty  of  giving  you  a  sermon.  It 
is  I  who  caused  you  to  be  married  and  in  a  manner  exactly  as 

59 


The  DRAMATIST 

I  was  married  by  our  mother.  My  husband  is  identical  with 
yours.  They  both  have  the  same  manner  of  conduct,  the  same 
kind  of  idleness  in  their  equal  wealth.  Their  habits  of  clubs, 
sports,  hunting  are  almost  similar.  Both  are  sons  of  rich  fami- 
lies, having  had  fathers  who  worked  hard ;  they  and  others  like 
them  form  a  legion  of  similar  husbands,  who  have  wisely 
married,  before  being  too  baldheaded,  before  being  too  ugly, 
young  girls  richly  endowed  like  us,  excellently  educated  and 
reared  in  convents  like  ours.  Their  households  compose  the 
good  middle  class  of  society.  And  as  for  my  part,  I  am  very 
well  satisfied  with  my  lot.  Ferdinand  and  I  love  each  other 
sincerely — just  as  we  should. 

IRENE. — Oh !  I  know  that.  You  are  one  of  a  certain  lim- 
ited number  of  wives  always  satisfied  with  their  lives.  But  it 
is  you  who  at  the  right  moment  will  make  also  the  most  re- 
signed widows.    The  one  and  the  other  are  of  the  same  kind. 

PAULINE  (a  little  offended). — I  don't  quite  see  the  con- 
nection. 

IRENE. — Is  that  so?  Just  a  few  months  ago,  at  the  dinner 
when  Michel  Davemier  told  us  of  his  trip  to  Greece,  do  you 
recall  what  your  husband  said?  He  said  very  naturally: 
"Should  I  have  the  misfortune  to  lose  my  wife,  and  were  I  still 
young  enough,  I  should  take  just  such  a  trip?  You  seemed 
to  find  this  also  very  natural." 

PAULINE.— Why,  was  it  not? 

IRENE. — What?  Is  that  a  good  husband,  who  in  presence 
of  his  wife  should  thus  foresee  a  possibility  of  becoming  a  wi- 
dower, to  start  a  trip  with  just  a  little  baggage? 

PAULINE. — You  always  go  to  the  extreme. 

IRENE. — And  you?  Is  that,  then,  the  manner  of  being  in 
perfect  accord  in  a  household?  It  is  not  like  that  I  want  to 
be  loved;  nor  do  I  care  to  love  like  that.  It  is  against  such 
misery  that  I  cry  and  struggle  here. 

PAULINE  (maliciously). — If  I  gave  but  little  attention  to 
what  my  husband  said,  it  is,  no  doubt,  because  I  amused  my- 
self watching  you. 

IRENE.— Me? 

PAULINE. — Yes,  you.  While  Michel  Davemier  kept  us 
under  the  charm  of  his  speech,  his  ideas  seemed  to  me  devil- 
ishly advanced  in  every  respect;  but  you  gave  the  impression 
of  finding  them  very  eloquent. 

IRENE  (with  embarrassment). — What  do  you  mean  to 
say? 

PAULINE. — Would  you  like  me  to  add  even  the  reason  to 
v/hich  I  attribute  the  particular  nervous  irritation  that  you  feel 
against  your  husband?     It  is  because  he  lacked,  I  confess  it, 

60 


The  DRAMATIST 

ability  and  refinement,  which  Michel  showed  during  the  dis- 
cussion. Since  we  have  again  met  the  friend  of  our  childhood, 
your  husband  has  given  you  but  very  little  opportunity  to 
show  how  small  he  is. 

IRENE  (agitated). — Then  you  think — what  do  you  think? 

PAULINE. — I  think  that  you  were  wounded  in  your  self- 
love,  and  that  there  is  nothing  in  it.  All  this  will  pass  (point- 
ing to  the  back  of  the  stage).  The  smokers  are  coming  back. 
Your  eyes  are  red.    You  should  perhaps — 

IRENE. — Yes,  make  myself  presentable.  (She  goes  into 
her  chamber — right). 

Scene  II. 
Pauline,  Fergan. 

FERGAN. — How  is  this,  my  dear  Pauline?  My  wife  leaves 
you  alone? 

PAULINE. — You  came  just  in  time  to  take  her  place. 

FERGAN. — In  fact,  I  came  to  take  leave  of  you.  Irene  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  tell  me  that  we  would  have  guests. 
I  had  to  pretend  urgent  business  to  avoid  the  company  of  your 
Mr.  Davemier.  I  have  come  to  believe  that  he  is  a  fellow  of 
great  value,  but  he  is  poison  to  me.  I  left  him  with  Ferdinand, 
who,  it  seems,  can  endure  him  more  than  I. 

PAULINE. — And  you  go  away  to  make  your  indispensa- 
ble visit  to  the  club? 

FERGAN.— Oh!  indispensable?  No!  But  there  is  a  little 
group  of  friends  who  play  the  game  among  themselves.  When 
we  take  leave  at  seven  o'clock,  we  say:  'Will  you  be  here  this 
evening?'  'I  will  be  if  you  will  be.'  'Well,  then,  I'll  be.'  Then 
we  have  a  mark,  an  aim,  our  little  word  to  keep. 

PAULINE. — Did  you  never  ask  yourself  if  there  was  no 
other  thing  of  more  importance  to  you?  Yes;  the  peace  of 
your  home.  What  do  you  think  your  wife  feels  whenever  you 
leave  her  alone  at  home? 

FERGAN. — My  wife?  She  is  enchanted!  You  could  cer- 
tainly see  how^  sullen  and  disobliging  she  acted  towards  me  all 
the  time  at  dinner.  Well,  the  moment  she  knows  that  I  am 
away,  I  wager  she  will  become  very  amiable,  very  joyous.  The 
moment  I  come  where  she  is,  she  becomes  gloomy.  When  I 
depart,  she  feels  at  once  an  air  of  deliverance. 

PAULINE. — Instead  of  being  contented  with  things  as 
they  are,  you  should  try  to  change  them.  The  situation  is  in- 
deed grave. 

FERGAN. — What  would  you  have  me  do?  It  is  Irene  who 
does  not  suffer  me  any  more.  That  began,  I  do  not  know 
when;  and  continues,  I  do  not  know  why;  and  I  don't  care 
even  to  give  the  impression  of  perceiving  it. 

6i 


The  DRAMATIST 

PAULINE. — If  you  become  stubborn  on  your  side,  she 
will  become  stubborn  on  hers,  and  the  breach  between  you 
will  become  more  and  more  wide. 

FERGAN. — The  worse !  I  have  thought  a  great  deal.  My 
conscience  does  not  reproach  me  for  anything.  Of  what  does 
Irene  complain? 

PAULINE. — Of  nothing  precisely — of  not  being  happy. 

FERGAN. — Does  she  believe  I  am?  With  her  singular, 
capricious  character,  her  continual  hostilities,  her  glum  and 
scowling  look!  She  should  bear  that  in  mind:  the  more  she 
comports  herself  so,  the  more  I  shall  go  for  fresh  air  and  shall 
wait  until  that  passes. 

PAULINE. — But  then,  what  will  become  of  her  during 
that  time? 

FERGAN. — She  will  think  the  matter  over. 

PAULINE. — Oh !  She  is  of  such  a  nature  that  you  might 
wait  a  long  while  for  her  submission. 

FERGAN  (with  authority). — She  is  my  wife. 

PAULINE. — She  is  first  herself,  and  then  your  wife. 

FERGAN. — I  married  her  to  give  her  a  peaceful  and 
agreeable  home.  I  ask  her  to  share  with  me  an  ordinary,  pos- 
sible life,  like  all  the  world. 

PAULINE. — Irene  is  a  person  who  is  not  like  all  the 
world. 

FERGAN. — I  pity  her.  Whoever  is  not  like  the  rest  of  the 
people  is  of  necessity  wrong.  As  you  see,  it  is  not  I  who  must 
change.  For  my  part  I  take  life  as  it  presents  itself.  Irene  is 
constantly  dreaming.  I  never  dream.  And  I  do  not  under- 
stand how  one  can  wish  for  anything  better  than  a  peaceful 
life.  It  is  your  sister  who  must  change,  and  you  should  tell 
her  so. 

PAULINE. — I  told  her  the  best  I  could,  just  a  few  min- 
utes ago. 

FERGAN. — Did  you?  And  what  argument  did  she  use 
against  me? 

PAULINE. — The  most  adroit  of  all — it  is  beyond  your 
comprehension. 

Scene  III. 
Pauline,  Fergan,  Irene. 

(IRENE  scowls  as  she  sees  her  husband;  she  stops  for  a 
while.) 

FERGAN  (low  to  PAULINE).— There  she  is.  (Loud.) 
Here  you  have  company.  I  shall  go  away.  (Irene  cheers  up.) 
(Low.)  Do  you  see?  (Loud.)  Good  by.  (He  bows  slightly 
to  IRENE,  who  lets  him  pass,  and  he  goes  out  through  the 
left.^ 

62 


The  DRAMATIST 

Scene  IV. 
Pauline,  Irene. 
IRENE.— Did  you  speak  of  me? 

PAULINE.— Certainly!    We  had  a  heart  to  heart  talk. 
IRENE. — Oh!     Then  you  should  understand  each  other 
very  well! 

PAULINE. — ^Just  as  well  as  I  understand  you. 

Scene  V. 

The  same,  Valanton,  Michel  Davemier.  (The  last  two  ar- 
rive from  the  conservatory.) 

VALANTON. — So,  did  I  not  convince  you? 

MICHEL.— Not  in  the  least 

VALANTON. — I  was  about  to  marry  off  Mr.  Davernier. 

IRENE.— To  whom? 

VALANTON.— To  whom?  How  do  I  know?  We  did 
not  reach  that  far.  I  said  to  him:  "Now  look,  you  are  thirty 
years  old.  Your  personal  merits,  your  eminent  situation  in  the 
university,  entitle  you  to  a  wife  v/ith  a  large  dowry,  and  it  is 
for  you  to  find  her.  It  is  only  a  short  time  since  you  returned 
to  Paris ;  you  did  not  make  undesirable  acquaintances  nor  any 
entangling  alliances " 

PAULINE.— Oh! 

VALANTON. — "Consequently,  you  don't  love  any  one; 
then  go  ahead  and  marry !  The  first  thing  to  do  in  such  a  case 
is  to  say  to  oneself,  'I  want  to  marry.'  Afterwards,  there  is 
nothing  left  but  to  look  for  a  desirable  match.  Of  course,  as 
usual,  one  compares,  chooses,  and  gives  preference.  This  is 
worth  more  than  the  opposite  method;  to  provide  one's  self 
with  a  woman  first,  and  decide  to  marry  her  later — " 

PAULINE  (to  MICHEL)— And  what  did  you  answer  to 
these  exhortations? 

MICHEL. — To  me  marriage,  birth,  and  death  constitute 
the  three  great  solemnities  of  our  existence.  I  attribute  to 
each  an  equal  importance.  I  look  at  them  with  the  same  spirit. 
Personally,  we  do  not  anticipate  our  birth ;  we  die  involuntar- 
ily when  our  time  comes.  So,  also,  I  think  that  marriage 
should  be  accomplished  without  our  intervention,  just  as  well 
as  our  birth;  without  preparing  for  it  more  than  we  prepare 
for  death.  I  should  like  marriage  to  come  suddenly,  fatally, 
instinctively,  through  the  sovereign  action  of  nature.  The  sac- 
ramental "yes,"  it  seems  to  me,  should  come  forth  from  our 
hearts,  because  it  was  put  therein  mysteriously,  unknown  to 
us,  as  if  it  were  the  first  mewing,  as  it  shall  be  the  last  sigh. 

IRENE. — Nature  takes  care  to  give  us  birth  and  make  us 
die.    It  does  not  care  to  marry  us. 

63 


The  DRAMATIST 

MICHEL. — In  fact,  it  watches  how  we  fall  in  love  in  spite 
of  ourselves,  with  one  that  excludes  every  one  else.  And  this 
sentiment  is  as  arbitrary,  as  undefinable,  as  divine,  as  is  the 
law  which  first  opens  our  eyes,  and  then  closes  them  to  the 
light. 

PAULINE. — Still,  one  has  the  liberty  to  get  married  or 
not;  we  are  free  to  marry  without  love,  and  even  against  love. 

MICHEL. — Exactly.  Here  nature  inspired  itself  on  the 
subject.  It  is  not  brutal,  as  in  the  question  of  life  and  death. 
It  is  more  humble  and  very  gallant.  It  insinuates,  beseeches, 
delays,  and  torments. 

IRENE. — And  after  all  it  is  powerless  to  make  people  re- 
frain from  marrying  for  family  reasons,  for  reasons  of  conve- 
nience, or  any  other  reasons,  which  are  naught  but  reasons. 

MICHEL. — We  may  disregard  nature  for  a  while,  or  we 
may  not  wait  till  it  announces  itself,  but  you  may  rest  assured 
that  sooner  or  later  it  will  assert  itself;  it  will  either  confirm 
through  love  the  marriage  of  those  who  disregarded  it  at  the 
beginning,  or  will  make  them  unite  with  some  one  else  outside 
— as  in  nature. 

VALANTON. — I  know  only  one  way  of  marrying;  the 
city  hall  and  the  church. 

MICHEL. — Marriage  is  love,  to  which  the  virtuous  cus- 
toms have  nobly  added  the  city  hall  and  the  church.  In  your 
system,  it  would  be  nothing  else  but  the  serious  action  of  sign- 
ing an  important  contract.  I  can  see  in  this  kind  of  engage- 
ment the  most  notable  act  of  the  bourgeoisie,  but  I  deny  it  the 
character,  the  fatal  beauty,  of  being  one  of  the  three  great  hu- 
man acts. 

PAULINE. — Is  it  at  the  French  schools  in  Athens  that 
one  learns  things  like  that? 

MICHEL. — No,  in  the  school  of  life,  where,  my  dear 
madam,  you  were  present  at  my  debut. 

VALANTON. — It  is  true,  then,  that  you  were  the  first 
playmate  of  my  little  sister-in-law? 

MICHEL. — We  were  neighbors  in  our  gardens  at  St. 
James.  A  day  came  when  I  had  no  father,  no  mother,  no  gar- 
den. But  the  illusion  of  still  having  a  family,  of  a  place  in  the 
world,  I  found  in  the  good  neighboring  home. 

A  Servant  (coming  in). — The  carriage  of  Mr.  Valanton  is 
ready. 

VALANTON  (to  the  Servant)  .—All  right.  Give  us  our 
coats.    (The  servant  goes  out.) 

PAULINE. — You  were  very  delicate  when  you  were  little. 

MICHEL. — Yes,  very  sickly.  I  inherited  that  from  my  pa- 
rents. 

IRENE. — And  he  was  a  bad  boy,  too. 

MICHEL.— Truly? 

64 


The DRAMATIST 

PAULINE. — Not  at  alL  I  have  a  vague  recollection  that 
he  was  very  gentle. 

IRENE. — You  did  not  know  what  more  things  to  invent, 
that  I  should  not  always  end  by  crying,  and  above  all,  you 
used  to  assume  such  a  haughty  air,  and  become  angry,  and 
then  go  away. 

MICHEL  (melancholy). — That  is  probably  the  way  the 
boys  cry.  (During  this  VALANTON  has  risen  and  made  a 
sign  to  his  wife,  who  also  is  ready  to  go  away.) 

VALANTON  (to  Irene). — You  will  excuse  us,  dear  friend, 
but  I  arose  this  morning  at  five  o'clock  to  go  hunting,  and  I 
ought  to  start  again  tomorrow  morning.  I  am  literally  worn 
out,  it  simply  kills  me, 

IRENE. — If  that  were  work,  yes;  but  as  it  is  amusement — 
(goes  toward  MICHEL). — Good  by,  Mr.  Davernier. 

MICHEL  (who  also  rose). — I  go.  I  beg  your  pardon,  per- 
haps I  detained  you  by  my  staying  a  little  too  long.  (To  PAU- 
LINE and  to  IRENE.)  But  it  was  in  some  respects  my  fare- 
wells that  I  wanted  to  bid,  and  which  I  prolonged. 

IRENE  (vidth  emotion). — Farewell? 

PAULINE  (with  a  simple  curiosity). — Are  you  going 
away  again? 

MICHEL, — I  am  charged  with  a  mission  of  researches  in 
Asia  Minor. 

IRENE. — And  you  must  depart  at  once? 

MICHEL. — I  should  be  ready  in  a  very  short  time. 

PAULINE  (whom  her  husband  hastens  to  the  door  of  the 
conservatory). — Will  you  not  come  to  pay  me  a  last  visit? 

MICHEL.— Certainly.  (MICHEL  stays  to  take  leave  of 
IRENE,  whUe  PAULINE  and  VALANTON  go  out,) 

Scene  VI. 
Irene,  Michel. 

IRENE. — Why  must  you  go?  Tell  me  about  this  project 
which  is  so  unexpected? 

MICHEL. — I  should  have  preferred  not  to  speak  at  all. 

IRENE. — And  it  seemed  to  you  best  to  let  us  know 
through  a  letter  that  you  had  gone,  and  would  remain  away 
for  a  long  time? 

MICHEL. — Don't  scold  me,  please. 

IRENE. — What  made  you  take  such  a  resolution? 

MICHEL. — I  once  went  away  for  reasons  known  by  no 
one  but  myself.  The  time  passed  slowly.  I  tried  to  delude 
myself,  and  then  I  made  the  mistake  of  coming  back.  To-day 
I  have  first  realized  that  mistake — I  must  depart. 

IRENE. — The  reasons  that  you  had  and  still  have,  is  it  im- 
possible to  let  me  know  them? 

65 


The  DRAMATIST 

MICHEL. — No.  There  is  no  one  else  to  whom  I  could  tell 
them. 

IRENE  (confused).— Ah! 

MICHEL.— Ask  me. 

IRENE.— I  do  not  dare. 

MICHEL. — Well,  then,  it  is  I  who  shall  dare.  Above  all, 
the  long  months  that  I  passed  in  the  very  heart  of  antique 
things  have  undoubtedly  diverted  my  attention  from  m.y  own 
life.  Leave  the  present,  and  let  me  take  you  with  me  in  my 
recollections  along  a  sweet  and  sad  walk  through  a  temple  in 
ruins. 

IRENE. — I  understand  very  well  that  you  are  going  to  in- 
vent one  of  those  games  of  which  I  spoke  a  few  minutes  ago, 
and  which  always  made  me  shed  tears. 

MICHEL. — When  your  marriage  was  decided  upon  you 
were  eighteen  years  old.  I  was  twenty  and  had  just  left  the 
normal  school.  You  became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Fergan.  All  this 
fell  upon  me  heavily,  like  a  judgment.  I  do  not  know  how  a 
woman  feels  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  but  I  know  that  a  boy  of 
twenty  is  something  which  is  not  yet  fully  conscious.  I  con- 
tinued to  see  you,  to  see  you  again  and  again,  until  one  day  I 
realized  that  I  loved  you  distractedly.  When  one  finds  out 
that  such  is  the  circumstance,  he  is  fully  aware  of  his  future. 
I  was  destined  to  love  you  forever,  and  it  was  forbidden  me 
to  ever  love  you.  Then  I  looked  for  a  refuge  in  work,  and  then 
in  exile.  I  was  going  to  live  three  years  in  the  far  East,  trying 
to  drown  my  thought,  which  you  occupied,  in  the  sun,  in  the 
vast  pure  sky  of  those  shores.  It  is  not  because  I  felt  healed 
that  I  returned,  but  it  is  because  I  felt  no  better.  But  here, 
here  was  something  even  worse  to  meet. 

IRENE  (interrupting  him). — I  did  not  want  to  follow  you 
in  the  past. 

MICHEL. — Now,  I  have  nothing  else  to  tell  you,  (A 
pause). 

IRENE. — Perhaps  there  is  something  missing  in  woman's 
soul.  As  for  my  part  I  shall  never  understand  how  one  is  able 
to  leave  the  person  he  loves.  To  me  it  seems  everything  would 
be  supportable  but  the  absence.  Of  course  I  realize  that  the 
first  sentiment  was  not  to  depart  from  the  one  we  love  so 
dearly. 

MICHEL. — And  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  it  was  a  kind  of 
folly  which  compelled  me  to  run  away  from  you  would  you 
not  see  in  that  impulsive  action  a  most  humble  and  passionate 
confession,  the  most  painful  proof  of  my  sincerity  and  my  sub- 
mission? 

IRENE. — But  if  you  came  to  realize  that  the  sacrifice  of 
remaining  near  me  would  be  still  greater — would  you  not  con- 
sent?   (Silence  from  MICHEL.)     Even  if  I  should  ask  it? 

66 


The DRAMATIST 

MICHEL. — I  did  not  say  that.  I  never  thought  this  ques- 
tion would  present  itself. 

IRENE.— Nor  did  I,  until  now. 
MICHEL.— And  now? 

IRENE. — It  seems  to  me  I  cease  to  be  the  woman  who  has 
ignored  herself  for  such  a  long  time.  And  at  the  news  that 
came  so  suddenly  that  I  was  going  to  lose  you  again  (she  be- 
gins to  shed  tears),  I  felt  that  I  had  come  to  consider  you 
something  that  belongs  to  me,  I  do  not  know  how,  but  never- 
theless very  much  to  me. 

MICHEL. — You  feel  ill.  I  am  very  culpable.  I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  have  not  the  right  to  understand  what  you  say,  to 
dare  to  believe  it.  It  is  only  I  alone  who  has  to  suffer. 
I  learned  it.    You  should  not  do  it. 

IRENE  (supplicating). — Promise  that  you  will  go  away 
no  more ! 

MICHEL.— What  will  become  of  us? 

IRENE. — Ah!  whatever  the  future  reserves  for  us  please 
do  not  abandon  me.  Be  my  providence,  my  consolation.  If 
you  only  knew  how  unhappy  I  am.  No.  Remain.  Let  us 
share  our  sorrows. 

MICHEL. — You  believe  me  stronger  than  I  am. 
IRENE. — I  believe  you  are  strong,  and  I  feel  that  I  am 
strong. 

MICHEL. — Yes,  but  in  my  love  for  you,  you  think  that  I 
am  capable  of  wishing  anything  which  shall  be  in  the  least  in- 
jurious to  you.    But  did  you  never  stop  to  think  that  the  most 
unspeakable  anguish  can  soil  even  the  purest  sentiment? 
IRENE. — I  do  not  understand  you. 

MICHEL, — I  see  here  beside  you  a  man  whose  rights  and 
caprices  can  dispose  of  you. 

IRENE  (palpitating  with  shame). — You  are  not  generous. 
MICHEL. — I  am  jealous.    (IRENE  covers  her  face.)    And 
you  will  understand  that  there  will  not  be  room  enough  for  me 
and  the  man  to  whom  you  belong.    (A  long  pause.) 

IRENE. — You  have  made  me  feel  how  great  a  part  of  my 
heart  you  occupy — and  I  know  also  that  I  cannot  belong  to 
you.  I  ought  not  to  belong  to  anybody.  Help  me.  Remain 
to  defend  me ;  you  will  always  see  my  eyes  resting  sincerely  on 
yours.  From  this  moment  I  shall  forever  keep  myself  for  my- 
self. (She  extends  him  her  hand,  which  he  very  respectfully 
kisses.)  Return  as  soon  as  you  can — thanks;  this  evening  I 
feel  my  soul  was  born  again. 

MICHEL. — You  have  also  renewed  my  life.  (Exit  Michel 
through  the  conservatory.) 

67 


DRAM 


Scene  VII. 


IRENE  (alone  after  watching  MICHEL'S  departure,  falls 
in  an  elbow  chair,  in  a  pensive  attitude). 

Scene  VIII. 

Irene,  Fergan.  (Fergan  returns  through  the  door  of  his 
room,  left.  He  is  still  in  his  evening  dress,  except  the  dressing 
gown  that  he  has  on.  He  comes  in  without  being  noticed  by 
IRENE,  until  he  puts  his  hands  upon  the  back  of  the  armchair 
where  she  sits.) 

FERGAN.— Are  you  asleep? 

IRENE  (jumping). — You  frighten  me! 

FERGAN  (amiably). — I  did  not  mean  to.  I  thought  I 
would  not  find  you  in  the  drawing  room  at  this  hour.  There  is 
no  more  fire  here,  (Feeling  her  hands.)  Your  hands  are 
frozen. 

IRENE  (freeing  herself). — Let  me  alone,  please. 

FERGAN.— What  is  the  matter? 

IRENE.— I  thought  I  should  be  left  alone. 

FERGAN. — Your  nerves  again? 

IRENE.— Yes. 

FERGAN  (very  gallant). — That  suits  you  very  well.  You 
look  still  prettier. 

IRENEw — Pray,  let  me  alone. 

FERGAN. — Are  you  really  angry?  But  I  am  determined 
not  to  become  angry.    (He  embraces  her.) 

IRENE  (breaking  away). — You  are  stepping  on  my  dress. 

FERGAN  (whispering  in  her  ear). — Come,  it's  bedtime. 

IRENE.— No ! 

FERGAN.— Listen! 

IRENE  (she  exits  and  closes  the  door  abruptly). — Good 
night ! 

FERGAN.— No !  Irene !  (He  tries  to  open,  but  the  lock 
resists.    He  shouts  furiously). — You  shall  pay  for  this. 

ACT  II 

The  same  setting  as  in  Act  I.  Daylight.  The  spring  roller 
blinds  of  the  glazed  back  door  are  lowered. 

Scene  I 

Irene,  Fergan.  (As  the  curtain  rises,  FERGAN  is  ready  to 
drink  a  cup  of  coffee  at  the  table  at  the  right.  IRENE,  seated 
in  an  armchair,  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  room,  reads,  ob- 
stinately, a  book.  FERGAN,  after  manifestations  of  impa- 
tience, closes  the  book  in  the  hands  of  his  \^ife,  and  takes  it 
away  with  a  move  of  firm  resolution.) 

68 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

FERGAN. — Although  you  have  tried  it,  I  think  I  can  de- 
lay no  longer  from  telling  you  the  changes  I  wish  to  make,  and 
which  I  think  are  absolutely  necessary.  (IRENE,  her  arms 
crossed,  listens  to  him,  without  looking  at  him.)  It  has  been 
a  long  time,  several  months,  since  you  mentioned  the  subject 
of  your  health.  The  state  of  your  nerves,  your  migrims  and 
your  hysterics  alarmed  me  only  at  first;  to-day  my  opinion  is 
settled  as  to  these  imaginary  ills,  which  I  deplore  you  still 
simulate.  I  have  resolved  to  adopt  extreme  measures — to  cure 
you.  If  life  in  Paris  still  continues  to  disagree  with  you  I  shall 
take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  terminate  the  lease  of 
this  residence,  whose  term  of  renewal  is  just  approaching. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  offer? 

IRENE.— None. 

FERGAN  (with  a  cunning  and  spiteful  tone). — Then,  all 
that  remains  for  me  to  do  is  to  consult  you  as  to  your  choice 
between  two  estates  that  I  have  in  view.  They  have  equal 
reasons  for  furnishing  you  a  salutary  climate.  Both  are  in  the 
country,  far  from  any  town,  and  receive  excellent  breezes  from 
the  neighboring  forests.  I  would  willingly  abide  by  your  pre- 
ference, because  you  are  destined  to  live  at  one  of  these  two 
places  more  constantly  than  I,  because  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
be  away  frequently.  The  administration  of  our  estates  or 
some  unforeseen  events  will  make  this  necessary.  Such  ab- 
sence will  not  annoy  you  whose  life  is  so  uniformly  arranged. 
When  do  you  think  you  will  be  disposed  to  examine  the  de- 
tails of  this  question? 

IRENE  (rising). — Never!  I  refuse  to  interfere  in  what- 
ever you  may  bring  before  me  regarding  the  future.  We  shall 
never  form  any  plans  together.  I  cannot  conceive  of  the  possi- 
bility of  a  common  existence  between  us;  you  hate  me  as  I 
hate  you. 

FERGAN. — It  is  you  who  compel  me  to  hate  you.  You 
impose  upon  me,  your  husband,  a  situation  which  is  singular, 
ridiculous,  outrageous !    Change  and  I  will  change  too. 

IRENE. — This  does  not  depend  on  me.  I  feel  something 
which  is  stronger  than  I  am. 

FERGAN. — You  were  not  always  like  that?    Were  you? 

IRENE. — Why  not!  At  first,  as  any  other  girl  who  mar- 
ries, I  asked  nothing  else  but  to  love  the  man  whose  wife  I  had 
become.  I  tried,  I  struggled,  I  tormented  my  heart,  but  I 
could  not  triumph  over  myself.  I  cannot,  I  cannot!  And  I 
swear  it  from  the  depth  of  my  heart,  I  shall  never  be  able.  It 
is  from  experience  that  I  know  I  cannot  love  you  at  all. 

FERGAN  (beside  himself). — There  is  not  one  single  word 
in  what  you  say  which  is  not  a  violation  of  your  duty  and  a 
defiance  of  all  my  rights. 

69 


The  DRAMATIST 

IRENE. — I  do  not  utter  one  word  which  does  not  express 
the  sorrow  and  the  truest  outburst  of  my  soul. 

FERGAN. — Do  you  realize  where  this  will  lead  to? 

IRENE.— I  don't  care ! 

FERGAN. — Then  you  are  a  fool!  This  at  least  can  be 
cured. 

IRENE. — And  I  hope  that  you  will  be  wise. 

Scene  II 
The  same,  PAULINE.    The  latter  comes  in  just  when  the 
quarrel  begins. 

PAULINE.— My  God!  My  God!  Again?  Is  it  then 
really  impossible  for  you  to  be  of  accord? 

FERGAN. — I  give  up.  You  may  listen  to  her.  It's  use- 
less to  argue  with  her.  Let  her  talk.  I  predict  that  in  time 
you  will  visit  a  cell.    (Exit.) 

Scene  III 
Irene,  Pauline. 

PAULINE.— Still  quarreling? 

IRENE. — Appalling!  From  week  to  week,  from  hour  to 
hour  the  thing  becomes  more  evil. 

PAULINE.— Oh!    Still  more  patience ! 

IRENE. — The  end  has  come!  Yesterday  you  heard  his 
vague  menaces.  To-day  they  are  about  to  be  executed.  Yes, 
he  wants  to  take  me  away  from  here,  isolate  me  from  the  rest 
of  the  world,  sequestrate  me,  I  do  not  know  where,  in  prison, 
with  him  as  my  jailor ! 

PAULINE. — Irene,  my  poor  sister  Irene ! 

IRENE. — Under  such  circumstances  I  think  nothing  bet- 
ter than  divorce,  or 

PAULINE.— Or  what? 

IRENE  (despairingly). — Out  through  the  door;  or,  if — 
jump  from  the  window! 

PAULINE.— You  frighten  me! 

IRENE. — Will  you  desert  me?  If  you  are  with  me  there  is 
no  time  to  lose. 

PAULINE  (embracing  her). — You  are  wicked!  But  it  is 
for  your  good  that  I  try  to  convince  you  of  your  error.  Your 
husband  is  not  a  villain.  Let's  see!  Do  you  suspect  there  is 
another  woman?    Perhaps  some  gratitude  is  due  him. 

IRENE.— For  what? 

PAULINE. — For  not  being  brutal,  as  many  others  permit 
themselves  to  be;  and  which  would  be  nothing  less  than  you 
deserve. 

IRENE. — No,  Pauline,  you  cannot  with  full  conscience  ad- 
vise the  immolation  of  this  great  sentiment, — one  that  a  wo- 
man feels  above  all  others ! 

70 


The  DRAMATIST 

PAULINE. — And  still  it  is  your  duty  to  remain  an  honest 
woman. 

IRENE. — No !  I  shall  never  admit  that  there  is  an  honest 
duty  under  a  similar  constraint. 

PAULINE. — Religion  also  commands  obedience. 

IRENE. — No.  Religion,  though  based  on  abnegation,  can- 
not command  such  extreme  humility  to  any  of  its  creatures. 
And  in  fact,  does  not  religion  teach  us  that  chastity  is  the 
state  nearest  to  God?  I  cannot  conceive  a  more  miserable  sin 
than  to  impose  complaisance,  affection  for  one's  flesh.  Yes, 
this  is  marriage.  People  have  transformed  this  lie  into  a  sa- 
cred religious  institution !  To  feel  and  realize  the  only  obsta- 
cle to  one's  happiness,  to  abominate  it  with  all  one's  strength, 
and  to  be  compelled  to  accept  as  a  pleasure,  what  you  really 
feel  a  deadly  poison !    Ah,  the  profanation,  the  shame ! 

PAULINE. — Irene,  you  love  somebody? 

IRENE.— Why? 

PAULINE. — Because  people  do  not  exalt  themselves 
against  something,  but  for  something 

IRENE. — Suppose  I  do.  I  would  then  have  another  rea- 
son to  long  for  my  deliverance. 

PAULINE. — But,  my  poor  darling,  a  new  husband — for 
another  you  will  feel  the  same  as  you  have  felt  for  the  first; 
you,  with  those  caprices  and  indefinite  ideas  of  yours. 

IRENE, — I  am  no  longer  the  unsophisticated  girl  who  fol- 
lowed your  advice  more  than  her  own,  when  you  made  me 
marry  Robert  Fergan.  You  had  your  experience.  And  I 
obeyed  your  great  and  dear  authority.  It  was  not  I  who  mar- 
ried ten  years  ago;  it  was  another  that  hardly  existed  then, 
and  of  whom  I  hardly  remember  anything.  But  now  I  feel  I 
am  somebody,  I  have  become  myself.  I  know  what  I  want, 
and  what  I  cannot  endure  longer.  This  struggle  tears  me  to 
pieoes,  my  heart  suffocates  me,  and  I  have  a  terrible  desire  to 
kill  myself ! 

PAULINE.— Ah!  Be  quiet.  For  God's  sake;  what  shall 
I  do,  what  shall  I  do? 

IRENE. — You  know  what  to  do;  it  is  understood,  you  pro- 
mised me.  It  was  you  who  postponed  the  hour — now  it  has 
arrived.    You  are  just  in  time. 

PAULINE. — Then  do  you  really  want  it? 

IRENE. — Go  to  my  husband  immediately.  Tell  him  what 
you  think  best,  be  explicit  and  decisive.  I  would  go,  but  I 
have  no  influence  whatever  upon  him.  He  would  simply  treat 
me  once  more  as  a  fool.  To  you  he  will  listen.  He  always 
wanted  me  to  have  your  seriousness,  your  commonsense.  The 
gravity  of  your  advice  would  make  him  reflect. 

PAULINE. — Yes,  all  this  is  right,  but  for  divorce  one 
should  have  at  least  a  reason,  present  a  pretext. 

71 


The DRAMATIST 

IRENE, — It  will  be  enough  that  my  husband  be  of  accord 
with  me ;  as  to  the  means  that  we  shall  adopt,  invent,  simulate, 
to  obtain  the  grant  which  will  give  me  the  liberty,  we'll  see. 
Oh,  tell  him  anything,  until  he  concedes.  Do  not  allow  your- 
self to  be  repulsed  from  the  very  beginning.  Insist,  suppli- 
cate, frighten  him.  Go,  you  can  do  that — you  are  afraid?  I 
suppose  you  have  reason  to  be. 

Scene  IV. 

The  Same.    A  Servant. 

THE  SERVANT.— Mr.  Davemier  asks  if  madam  is  dis- 
posed to  receive  him. 

IRENE. — Ask  him  to  come  in.    (Exit  servant.) 

Scene  V. 
Irene,  Pauline. 

PAULINE. — What  have  you  to  say  to  Michel  in  such  a 
moment  as  this?     (With  an  air  of  mistrust.)     Does  he  know? 

IRENE. — No.  Michel  does  not  even  suspect  what  you  are 
going  to  do.  (Very  loyally.)  But — if  he  should  know?  (With 
anguish)  Would  you  abandon  me?  (PAULINE  is  silent  a 
moment,  in  emotion.  Then  embraces  her  sister  with  infinite 
tenderness.) 

PAULINE.— My  poor  dear  sister!  (She  goes  to  FER- 
GAN.) 

Scene  VI. 
Irene,  Michel. 

MICHEL. — I  beg  your  pardon  for  coming  here. 

IRENE  (tenderly). — Yes.  (Gravely.)  But  you  should 
not  have  done  it.    You  should  not  do  it. 

MICHEL. — I  know.  I  promised  that  to  you.  I  swore  that 
to  myself.  But,  supposing  that  you  love  me  just  as  much  as 
I  love  you. 

IRENE. — Let  us  suppose. 

MICHEL. — ^Then  the  resolution  of  not  seeing  you  is  more 
difficult  for  me  to  keep  than  for  you. 

IRENE.— In  what  way? 

MICHEL. — Because  I  know  if  I  should  not  come  I  should 
not  see  you  at  all,  while  you,  you  could  always  think  that  I  am 
coming, 

IRENE.— And  then? 

MICHEL. — Then  your  time  flies,  hoping  I  might  come, 
whereas  with  me,  I  feel  from  minute  to  minute  the  certitude 
repeating  itself  of  not  seeing  you — should  I  obey  your  warn- 
ing. 

72 


The  DRAMATIST 

IRENE. — During  those  days,  so  long  and  so  numerous,  in 
which  we  Hve  apart,  so  far  from  one  another,  have  you  not 
thought  that  our  fate  can  change? 

MICHEL. — I  dare  not  wish  for  anything.  Do  you  think  of 
it,  do  you? 

IRENE. — During  your  absence  I  always  see  your  pale 
forehead,  all  these  dolorous  characteristics  of  a  malady  that  I 
would  like  to  cure,  and  which  engenders  in  me  a  pity  still 
greater  than  the  pity  I  feel  for  both  of  us.  I  dream  of  you  as 
being  delivered  of  this  air  of  suffering,  as  being  happy,  very 
happy.  When  I  am  not  with  you,  do  you  not  see  me — such  as 
I  am,  and  then,  such  as  I  could  be? 

MICHEL. — Yes.  There  are  hours  when  you  appear  be- 
fore me  all  distracted,  full  of  love,  and  all  unknown  as  yet  by 
me,  and  still  it  is  certainly  you;  yes,  you,  belonging  to  me  for- 
ever, as  through  a  miracle,  without  even  a  shadow  of  remorse 
or  reproach,  or  even  of  mourning  caused  by  the  death  of  an- 
other ! 

IRENE. — How  similar  your  soul  is  to  mine!  and  how  our 
love  seems  to  me  greater  with  all  the  intensity  of  our  pride! 
Neither  you  nor  I  have  conceived  of  the  possibility  of  a  happi- 
ness in  disloyalty.  So,  for  a  long  time,  without  having  spoken 
to  you,  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else  except  to  be  with  you 
forever. 

MICHEL.— What  do  you  mean? 

IRENE. — Just  at  this  moment  our  fate  is  being  decided. 
Pauline  is  meeting  my  husband  to  ask  him  whether  he  is  dis- 
posed that  we  give  each  other  legally  our  rights  as  well  as  our 
liberty. 

MICHEL  (eagerly). — And  do  you  hope? 

IRENE. — I  hope  he  will  concede.  I  could  not  expect  a 
senseless  tenacity  from  his  part  against  the  only  imaginable 
solution.  Why,  does  he  not  need  to-day  his  liberty  just  as 
well  as  I  do?    Nobody  likes  to  remain  in  hell! 

MICHEL. — I  want  to  believe  that,  I  believe  it. 

IRENE- — But,  to  respond  to  the  great  event  that  now  ap- 
proaches, a  great  resolution  is  imposed  upon  you  and  me.  The 
project  of  your  going  away,  which  I  opposed  at  first,  becomes 
now  a  necessity. 

MICHEL.— To  leave  you? 

IRENE. — Yes.  If  there  shall  be  any  prospect  for  me  to 
become  your  wife — it  will  probably  be  after  one  year.  Then 
you  might  return — but  if  I  am  not  able  to  break  my  chains 
(with  a  sob)  we  shall  see  each  other  no  more 

MICHEL.— Irene! 

73 


DRAM 


IRENE. — We  shall  always  be  apart,  each  of  us  in  the  dig- 
nity of  our  mourning,  in  the  mourning  of  promised  marriages, 
which  never  culminate !  From  the  bottom  of  your  soul  are  we 
in  accord? 

MICHEL. — No,  I  cannot  go  away  from  you  any  more.  I 
have  lost  that  rough  energy  that  sustained  me  long  ago.  I 
could  not  live  without  you,  without  seeing  you,  or  feeling  that 
you  are  near  me.  When  we  are  not  together,  I  need  the  warm 
recollection  of  having  touched — so — your  hands,  and  the  hope 
that  I  shall  soon  bend  over  your  eyes,  drink  in  the  sweetness 
of  your  words — (he  wants  to  embrace  her,  to  press  her  close 
to  his  bosom,  and  she  shows  great  emotion.) 

IRENE. — Michel,  please  do  not  unnerve  me,  do  not  take 
away  from  me  the  confidence  I  have  in  myself,  do  not  diminish 
the  faith  I  sincerely  have  in  my  honesty.  If  our  happiness  is 
to  last  from  to-day,  let  me  remain  all-deserving,  let  there  be  no 
memory  to  reproach  me.  Let  me !  (She  withdraws  herself 
quickly.)     I  am  your  betrothed ! 

MICHEL. — I  adore  you.    Your  will  shall  be  obeyed. 

IRENE  (showing  much  uneasiness). — You  have  stayed 
quite  long.    You  must  go. 

MICHEL. — Without  knowing?  What  will  become  of  me? 
How  could  my  patience  endure  the  uncertainty? 

IRENE. — I  shall  let  you  know  immediately. 

MICHEL. — But  if  you  could  not?  What  if  something  or 
some  one  would  interfere  or  oppose  your  writing  or  going  out? 

IRENE  (pointing  to  the  conservatory). — Then  wait  there. 
But  take  care  not  to  be  seen.  That  is  all.  Go,  go ;  time  passes. 
I  am  full  of  anguish.  I  hear  steps  approaching.  (Michel  dis- 
appears into  the  conservatory.) 

Scene  VII. 

Irene,  then  Pauline.  (With  attentive  ear  IRENE  goes  to 
the  other  door,  through  which  PAULINE  enters  swiftly.) 

PAULINE.— Where  is  Michel?  Did  he  go  away?  (Al- 
most out  of  breath.)  Don't  get  angry,  don't  wonder.  I  just 
had  a  terrible  fright,  that  your  husband  might  meet  him — and 
catch  an  impression — in  his  wrath. 

IRENE.— Does  he  refuse? 

PAULINE. — He  wants  to  tell  you  about  that.  Here  he 
comes  now. 

Scene  VIII. 

The  Same.    Fergan. 
FERGAN. — So  this  is,  then,  the  beautiful  plot  that  you 
have  prepared  for  me  with  your  sister! 
PAULINE.— We  did  not  plot. 

74 


The  DRAMATIST 

FERGAN  (to  IRENE). — This  is  the  pitiful  proposition 
that  you  calculated,  in  which  your  headaches  and  nervous 
spells  would  culminate? 

IRENE. — You  know  very  well  that  I  never  played  at  di- 
plomacy with  you.  Since  I  have  suffered  in  being  your  wife  I 
never  dissimulated  that.  I  told  you  very  loyally,  very  plainly. 
To-day  I  tell  you  again  that  I  am  not  able  to  suffer  more.  And 
as  this  depends  on  you  I  sent  some  one  to  ask  you  to  be  kind 
enough  not  to  cause  me  further  suffering. 

FERGAN. — Dear  me !  You  ask  of  me,  of  me,  who  repre- 
sents the  defense  of  the  right  and  the  respect  of  morals,  to  ac- 
cede to  you,  who  represent  the  revolt  against  society ! 

PAULINE  (interfering). — Listen,  Robert,  do  not  assume 
the  authority  of  principles.  It  is  not  a  question  here  of  being 
right  or  wrong. 

FERGAN.— Is  that  so? 

PAULINE. — As  for  myself,  I  tried  my  hardest  to  prevent 
this  crisis. 

FERGAN.— My  compliments. 

PAULINE. — But  in  the  name  of  my  tenderness  for  my  sis- 
ter, and  of  my  very  affectionate  esteem  for  you,  I  adjure  you, 
be  generous.  Be  good,  be  even  weak,  if  this  is  necessary  at 
this  moment ;  be  nobly  human. 

FERGAN. — My  dear  Pauline,  your  sister  had  thought  ne- 
cessary to  ask  you  to  act  as  mediator.  As  for  myself,  I  need 
none.  And  I  wish  to  settle  our  debate  once  for  all  by  our- 
selves, between  her  and  myself. 

IRENE  (to  PAULINE).— Do  not  leave  me! 

FERGAN. — Do  not  be  afraid.  I  shall  not  strike  you.  Or, 
at  any  rate — that  depends.  (To  PAULINE).  But  I  repeat, 
my  dear  friend,  that  if  you  do  not  obey  me  at  once  you  will 
oblige  me  to  convince  your  sister  that  I  am  master  here. 

PAULINE. — You  are  very  cruel. 

IRENE. — No !  (preventing  her  from  passing  through  the 
conservatory). — Wait  for  me  in  my  chamber, 

PAULINE  (embracing  her). — I  regret  I  am  helpless  to  do 
anything  for  you.    (Exit  PAULINE.) 

Scene  IX. 

Irene,  Fergan. 

IRENE. — You  want  then  to  push  me  to  the  limit,  reduce 
me  to,  I  don't  know  what  extremity? 

FERGAN. — I  want  simply  to  bring  you  to  reason, 
IRENE. — But  what   argument  do  you  oppose  to  my  re- 
quest for  a  separation?     It  cannot  be  that  you  still  love  me, 
after  all ! 

75 


The  D       RAMATIST 

FERGAN. — No,  I  do  not  love  you  any  more.  I  even  re- 
proach you  for  having  spoiled  my  life — and  if  it  were  to  make 
it  over  again — 

IRENE. — Then  you  feel  a  desire  for  revenge,  to  inflict 
upon  me  an  expiation  without  end? 

FERGAN. — That  would  be  my  right.  But  I  have  some- 
thing else  to  answer,  and  that  is :  On  the  day  of  our  marriage 
I  concluded  with  you  with  all  my  heart  a  very  clear  contract 
that  made  of  me  a  married  man.  This  contract  doubled  my 
situation  morally  and  materially.  Of  this  contract  I  observed 
all  the  clauses;  I  conformed  to  its  spirit  without  any  hesita- 
tion. Today  you  come  deliberately  to  ask  me  to  lessen,  to  be- 
come a  divorced  man,  a  man  who  sells  half  of  his  furniture, 
who  empties  half  his  portfolio,  and  who  remains  with  a  half 
facade  in  society.  And  all  these  because  it  pleases  you  to  have 
no  more  liking  for  my  company?  Well,  now  confess  that  my 
motives  are  a  little  more  serious  than  yours.  At  least  such 
would  be  the  advice  of  all  the  family  counsels,  and  all  the  tri- 
bunals on  earth. 

IRENE. — And  I  cry  out  in  horror  against  this  dissembling 
life  of  marriage,  where  we  are  naught  to  one  another,  where 
hatred  alone  exists.  Have  we  the  love  which  makes  one  happy 
through  the  happiness  we  give?  You  talk  to  me  of  human  re- 
spect, of  deeds  of  notary  public,  and  things  of  that  kind. 

FERGAN. — But  it  is  you  who  insisted  that  your  existence 
in  my  home  should  be  that  of  a  stranger  to  me;  I  treat  you 
therefore  as  the  adverse  party,  against  whom  I  have  titles  and 
signatures,  without  any  other  sentiment  than  that  of  my 
rights. 

IRENE. — Oh,  yes,  I  admit  all  the  laws  which  govern  for- 
tunes, determine  the  fate  of  wealth,  assure  to  one  his  money, 
and  even  somebody  else's; — for  mine,  I  do  not  even  think  of 
it — but  I  do  not  admit  that  the  law  should  make  a  person  for- 
ever the  property  of  another. 

FERGAN. — All  you  say  is  nothing  but  the  negation  of 
marriage  itself  whose  first  principle  is  that  one  cannot  leave  of 
his  own  will ! 

IRENE. — Now  let  us  talk  seriously.  There  is  an  instance, 
very  recent  too,  in  which  here  in  France  the  decision  of  only 
one  of  the  spouses  would  be  sufficient  to  break  marriage. 

FERGAN.— Who  told  you  that? 

IRENE.— The  attorney. 

FERGAN. — Ah !  ah !    Have  you  gone  that  far  already  ? 

IRENE. — In  the  first  years  of  this  century, — a  time  which 
perhaps  was  better  than  ours,  that  was  the  law  of  married  life. 
As  you  see,  I  do  not  dream  of  monstrous  things,  incompatible 
with  the  social  order.  To  hate  despairingly  one's  spouse,  to 
hate  him  to-day  more  than  yesterday,  and  to-morrow  more 

76 


The DRAMATIST 

than  to-day,  this  was  a  cause  won  for  divorce.  And  I  think 
that  should  be  the  supreme  reason.  I  do  not  see  another  as 
worthy  as  that ! 

FERGAN  (contemptuously). — The  new  law  has  not  even 
admitted  the  divorce  by  mutual  consent ! 

IRENE. — Eh!  When  a  husband  and  a  wife  are  capable  of 
understanding  a  divorce,  they  would  have  no  more  necessity 
of  it !  It  is  for  those  who  are  incapable  of  any  accord,  even  in 
that,  that  the  divorce  has  been  invented. 

FERGAN. — Do  whatever  you  please;  all  the  ways  are 
closed  before  you. 

IRENE.— I  shall  find  one. 

FERGAN. — None!  I  do  not  impose  services,  nor  serious 
injuries  upon  you.  I  am  faithful,  and  as  far  as  I  know,  no 
word  of  condemnation  was  ever  uttered  against  me.  Without 
these  three  grounds,  and  against  a  husband  such  as  I  am,  you 
cannot  ask  anything  of  the  tribunals. 

IRENE. — I  can  do  and  shall  do  much  that  it  will  be  you 
who  will  ask  to  be  released  from  me ! 

FERGAN.— Nothing! 

IRENE. — Nevertheless,  suppose  I  create  for  you  a  situa- 
tion which  shall  be  intolerable? 

FERGAN. — You  shall  not  triumph  over  my  character. 

IRENE.— We  will  see. 

FERGAN. — Whatever  grief  you  would  bring  upon  me  I 
would  not  answer  except  by  keeping  you  more  and  more  under 
my  domination. 

IRENE. — I  shall  leave  home,  I  shall  run  away. 

FERGAN. — And  I  will  bring  you  back  with  gendarmes. 
(IRENE  suddenly  springs  up.)    I  have  the  right  to  do  it. 

IRENE  (outraged). — And  if  the  revolt  should  make  of  me 
a  woman  such  as  no  man  of  honor  could  keep  in  his  house? 

FERGAN  (unyielding). — I  shall  keep  you!  It  pleases  me 
to  not  give  you  your  liberty.  Even  my  pleasure  gives  me  a  le- 
gitimate right  to  oppose  yours.  I  shall  keep  you  and  shall  not 
let  you  go! 

IRENE. — Oh !  and  they  say  there  are  no  more  slaves  in  the 
world !  And  still  I  must  be  a  slave  because  I  have  a  husband ! 
Thcie  is  no  eternal  oath  before  God  any  longer,  because  a  sis- 
ter nowadays  may  leave  the  convent,  and  yet  there  is  one  eter- 
nal oath,  of  a  wife  to  her  husband !  No,  this  is  above  me ;  I  do 
not  accept  it,  I  will  not  endure  it ! 

FERGAN. — Little  by  little  you  will  become  accustomed  to 
it.  Mark  well !  I  am  more  than  ever  resolute  about  the  reform 
of  our  habits,  of  which  I  advised  you.  We  shall  leave  Paris. 
I  am  going  to  procure  for  you  a  calmer  atmosphere,  which  will 
undoubtedly  do  you  the  necessary  good;  and  then  I  will  also 
profit  by  a  little  rest. 

77 


The DRAMATIST 

IRENE  (lost). — Is  this  your  last  word? 

FERGAN.— Yes. 

IRENE  (imploringly  with  joined  hands). — You  will  not  be 
pitiless.    You  will  not  desire  my  ruin. 

FERGAN  (repulsing  her). — Ah,  I  pray,  do  not  be  foolish! 
When  you  would  not  yield  to  me  I  spared  you  from  my  sup- 
plications.   My  decision  is  now  firmly  made. 

IRENE  (kneeling). — Mercy!    Mercy!    Save  me! 

FERGAN. — My  will  is  resolute.  Arrange  your  toilet. 
Later  on,  some  day,  I  am  convinced  you  yourself  will  praise 
me  for  having  kept  you  in  the  regular  way.  (Fergan  goes  out 
through  the  door  which  leads  to  his  chamber.) 

Scene  X. 

Irene  (alone)  then  Michel.  (IRENE  remains  for  a  mo- 
ment in  an  attitude  of  despair.  Then,  as  if  blinded,  she  goes 
towards  the  conservatory,  wherefrom  MICHEL  springs  upon 
her  and  receives  her  in  his  arms. 

IRENE. — Ah !  You !  You !  Do  whatever  you  please  with 
me. 

ACT  III 

The  action  takes  place  in  the  drawing  room  of  a  castle  out 
in  the  country.  In  the  back  a  porch  which  opens  into  a  park. 
Doors  at  right  and  left. 

Scene  I. 
Fergan,  Valanton. 

(As  the  curtain  rises,  FERGAN  is  busy  arranging  some 
volumes  on  his  book  shelves.  He  has  the  aspect  of  a  mature 
man.  VALANTON,  who  has  also  grown  old,  enters  through 
the  right,  carrying  with  him  a  fishing  outfit.) 

VALANTON. — Are  you  not  going  with  me?  Are  you 
busy? 

FERGAN. — You  see,  my  dear  fellow,  it  is  I  who  continues 
to  be  the  hostess  of  this  home.  Ever  since  we  came  here,  al- 
most ten  years  ago,  I  have  never  been  able  to  persuade  Irene 
to  give  the  least  attention  to  the  little  arrangements  of  the  in- 
terior. 

VALANTON. — To  be  sure!  But  you  must  admit  that  it 
was  not  for  her  pleasure  she  came  to  reside  in  this  country 
place. 

FERGAN.— Yes,  but  after  ten  years ! 

VALANTON  (taking  a  seat  in  order  to  arrange  a  fishing 
line). — Oh,  the  women;  they  can  continue  to  be  that  way  for 
a  long  time.  People  have  even  written  special  plays  on  this 
very  theme.  They  had  their  boudoir  a  century  before  men 
came  to  have  the  smoking-room. 

78 


The  DRAMATIST 

FERGAN. — But  you  should  not  believe  that  Irene  shows 
at  present  any  ill  will.  I  attribute  her  neglect  of  the  house  to 
a  little  fault  in  her  character.  But,  thank  God,  I  do  not  com- 
plain of  her.  We  have  come  to  an  end,  once  for  all,  of  that  hor- 
rible time,  when  I  certainly  was  compelled  to  make  her  feel  an 
iron  hand. 

VALANTON.— In  an  iron  glove. 

FERGAN. — Undoubtedly.  But  this  way  I  accomplished 
the  mission  I  had  to. 

VALANTON. — Certainly,  first  the  mission  towards  your- 
self. 

FERGAN  (with  satisfaction). — Especially  towards  her.  I 
assured  her  the  existence  of  an  honest,  honorable  woman. 
With  all  her  exuberances  of  ideas,  there  is  no  telling  of  what 
she  was  capable,  had  I  allowed  her  the  direction  of  her  actions. 
I  tell  you,  I  congratulate  myself  every  day  for  having  insisted 
sternly  on  that  subject.  In  this  retreat  the  physical  condition 
of  my  wife  has  rapidly  improved.  She  has  become  a  mother. 
Her  sentiments  have  modified.  At  last  she  understands  life  as 
one  should  understand  it,  as  something  which  in  fact  is  not  so 
very  bad,  and  in  which  we  needed  nothing  more  but  to  live  a 
good  life  near  one  another. 

VALANTON. — Oh,  evidently.  In  marriage  there  is  no 
strife  except  during  the  first  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  After 
that  everything  is  serene. 

FERGAN. — Notwithstanding,  this  does  not  exclude  the 
possibility  of  questions  arising  now  and  then  which  do  not 
pass  so  easily.  As,  for  example,  just  now  I  am  going  to  settle 
a  difficulty  for  which  I  foresee  I  shall  need  to  summon  all  my 
courage. 

VALANTON  (with  an  air  of  consternation). — Are  you  go- 
ing to  renew  the  strife  with  your  wife? 

FERGAN. — Yes.  A  rather  serious  one,  I  am  afraid.  The 
trouble  is  in  regard  to  the  instruction  of  our  Rene,  and  my  wife 
seems  not  to  be  disposed  to  teach  him  as  he  should  be  taught. 

VALANTON. — Oh!  my  dear  friend,  will  you  not  wait  un- 
til Pauline  and  I  have  finished  our  sojourn  at  your  home? 

FERGAN. — Impossible.  The  opening  of  the  schools  takes 
place  today.  I  have  sent  word  to  the  college  of  St.  Christophe, 
fifteen  miles  from  here,  that  Rene  will  sleep  there  to-night.  On 
various  occasions  Irene  was  so  hostile  to  the  idea  of  parting 
with  the  lad  that  I  preferred  to  put  off  the  discussion  until  the 
last  moment. 

VALANTON. — What?  Have  you  not  even  obtained  her 
consent? 

FERGAN. — She  always  refused  it  in  the  same  nervous 
manner  that  v/e  know  she  had  a  long  time  ago.  Then  it  seemed 
preferable  to  me  to  keep  silent  on  this  subject  in  order  to  save 

79 


The  DRAMATIST 

her  a  priori  excitement  and  superfluous  trepidation.  In  fact  is 
not  this  right?  The  crisis  of  the  separation  was  inevitable. 
Now,  as  you  see,  it  is  better  to  reason  with  Irene  but  once,  at 
just  the  moment  of  the  execution  of  what  I  think  I  must  do. 

VALANTON.— Hm !  Hm!  This  may  not  be  an  easy  mat- 
ter. (Ready  to  go  away  with  his  outfit)  At  least  try  to  have 
the  reconciliation  made  before  I  return.  I  go  to  install  myself 
with  my  fishing  lines  in  a  little  corner  that  I  discovered. 

FERGAN.— What  kind  of  fish  do  you  catch? 

VALANTON  (modestly).— Oh,  I  do  not  exclude  any. 

FERGAN.— But  do  you  catch  any? 

VALANTON.— None. 

FERGAN. — That  is  because  you  do  not  know  your  busi- 
ness. 

VALANTON. — It  is  the  fishes  that  ignore  theirs!  They 
pass,  they  look,  they  scent,  but  do  not  bite.  They  do  not  know 
even  how  to  play  with  the  cork.  They  are  sad — like  all  this 
country  of  stones  and  ravines.  Well,  good  by.  (Eixit  through 
the  left) 

Scene  II. 

Fergan,  Irene  and  Pauline. 

(The  two  women  enter  through  the  door  of  the  porch. 
IRENE  has  gray  hair,  her  appearance  austere  and  her  habili- 
ments somber.  PAULINE  carries  an  armful  of  dainty 
grasses  and  water  flowers.) 

PAULINE. — Ah,  how  tired  we  are ! 

FERGAN.— Did  you  go  very  far? 

PAULINE. — We  began  with  the  woods,  then  arrived 
down  at  the  field ;  we  wanted  to  go  out  from  the  park  and  re- 
turn through  the  hamlet 

FERGAN  (with  the  certainty  of  a  landowner  aware  of 
everjrthing). — Yes,  but  the  hedge  was  an  obstacle  on  your 
way. 

PAULINE. — Not  at  all.  The  path  was  cleared  of  its 
bushes.  A  peasant  woman  was  just  going  in  to  wash  some 
clothes  in  the  river.    The  wife  of  a  neighbor — wasn't  it,  Irene? 

FERGAN.— This  is  a  little  too  much.  (To  IRENE.)  And 
what  did  you  say  to  her  ? 

IRENE. — I  asked  her  how  her  child  was  getting  along. 

FERGAN.— And  that  is  all? 

IRENE. — No.  I  gave  her  what  she  needed  for  the  medi- 
cine. 

FERGAN  (taking  his  hat).— Well,  I — I  shall  go  and  ask 
her  to  be  kind  enough  to  leave  there. 

PAULINE. — Oh!  I  should  never  have  expected  that  of 
you !    At  least  do  not  abuse  her.    She  is  a  very  poor  woman. 

FERGAN. — Well,  has  she  any  right  to  my  property? 

80 


The  DRAMATIST 

PAULINE. — Do  you  never  get  tired  of  always  insisting  on 
your  rights? 

FERGAN. — Were  all  the  people  as  I  am,  society  would  do 
better.    I  can  guarantee  that.    (Exit.) 

Scene  III. 
Irene  and  Pauline. 

PAULINE. — You  should  have  detained  your  husband. 

IRENE. — He  does  what  he  wants,  and  I  do  all  in  my  power 
to  oppose  his  will. 

PAULINE, — So  neither  the  past  years  nor  the  situatio.ns 
that  changed  with  age  modified  your  attitude  toward  him? 

IRENE.— No! 

PAULINE. — But  you  do  not  quarrel  any  more,  do  you? 

IRENE. — At  present  between  us  there  is  only  one  quarrel 
that  is  possible;  and  this  we  have  in  our  hearts  as  yet  unex- 
pressed. 

PAULINE. — And  what  is  that  quarrel? 

IRENE.— The  education  of  Rene. 

PAULINE.  I  think  he  finds  your  maternal  tenderness  a 
little  exaggerated. 

IRENE. — Oh,  yes,  I  adore  my  son.  It  is  to  make  him  Live 
that  I  renounced  death.  And,  if  I  am  still  alive,  it  is  for  this 
child,  through  this  child,  from  whom  nobody  would  be  able 
to  separate  me.  Ah !  this  little  unquiet  life,  his  little  sad  soul, 
which  it  seems  to  me  is  made  but  of  my  sighs;  never  shall  I 
consent  to  trust  him  out  of  this  home  to  teachers,  strangers, 
others ! 

PAULINE. — Has  your  husband  spoken  to  you  in  regard 
to  this? 

IRENE. — Yes,  several  times  his  explanations  and  insist- 
ences on  this  question  have  carried  me  to  the  lowest  depths  of 
despair.  Until  the  last  few  days  I  trembled  secretly,  fearing 
that  he  may  try  to  put  his  intention  into  action.  But  this  year, 
as  you  see,  he  neglected  to  pay  any  attention  to  date  when  col- 
leges begin,  and  he  did  not  renew  his  efforts.  He  who  is  so 
resolute  in  everything!  One  would  say  that  in  this  respect  he 
sees  in  me  a  creature  guarding  his  little  one.  And  in  this  he 
sees  correctly;  I  would  dispute  it  with  him  desperately,  even 
to  the  death ! 

PAULINE. — Poor  sister!  I  realize  that  you  live  only  for 
your  child.  But  were  you  not  destined  to  live  your  own  life? 
Sometimes  I  think  of  what  might  have  been  if  you  had  married 
the  other;  and  I  realize  that  you  certainly  were  not  marked  for 
happiness. 

IRENE  (thoughtfully).— Who  knows? 

8i 


The  DRAMATIST 

PAULINE. — Oh !  no !  certainly  not !  Your  life  would  have 
been  somber,  rigorous  and  extremely  painful. 

IRENE.— Why? 

PAULINE. — I  am  thinking  of  what  sorrow  you  would 
have  been  condemned  to  endure  afterwards  if  you  had  realized 
your  dreams  of  long  ago ;  you  have  never  told  me  about  them, 
but  I  have  guessed  them. 

IRENE. — I  do  not  understand  you. 

PAULINE. — My  God,  I  should  not  recall  this  to  you.  But 
I  have  thought  of  it  often,  very  often. 

IRENE. — Will  you  please  explain? 

PAULINE. — Why  should  you  not  confess  it  now?  Is  it 
not  true  that  you  intended  to  marry  Michel  Davernier? 

IRENE. — (turning  aside). — Perhaps. 

PAULINE. — There !  Ah !  how  many  times  have  I  thought 
that  the  worst  of  your  sufferings  would  have  been  to  lose  the 
happiness  after  you  had  gained  it ! 

IRENE. — Then  the  only  thing  they  should  have  done  was 
to  have  granted  me  my  share  of  happiness.  As  to  the  rest,  I 
was  willing  to  endure  all. 

PAULINE. — No,  this  is  not  so.  Then  you  would  have 
truly  known  the  depths  of  hum^an  sorrow  and  suffering ;  when, 
ascended  to  the  greatest  height  of  bliss  with  your  beloved,  you 
would  have  fallen  suddenly, — he  dead,  in  your  arms! 

IRENR — Had  I  married  Michel  he  would  not  be  dead 
now!  I  could  have  preserved  him  from  death.  I  could  have 
been  there  at  any  m.oment  to  care  for  him  with  love,  and  cure 
him  with  caresses.  I  could  have  saved  him  from  what  in  his 
life  without  a  home  destroyed  him  little  by  little!  solitude, 
anxiety,  imprudence,  all  that  one  does  not  know — (as  she 
would  talk  to  herself) — all  that  one  cannot  know! 

PAULINE. — Pfff!  A  consumptive,  son  of  a  consump- 
tive— 

IRENE  (agitated).— Keep  still! 

PAULINE.— What  is  it? 

IRENE  (restraining  herself).— Nothing.  The  dreadful 
thought  of  death!  (Evasively.)  The  recollection.  Why  did 
you  talk  to  me  of  that? 

Scene  IV. 
The  same,  Rene,  Fergan. 

RENE  (enters  running). — Mamma,  mamma! 

IRENE  (opens  her  arms). — Rene!  My  treasure!  my  little 
one  so  weak !  Come,  let  me  embrace  you  (she  entwines  him) 
that  I  may  see  you  looking  better!  Oh!  become  strong  (the 
boy  babbles)  and  noisy  (he  wants  to  free  himself),  even  bad, 
like  a  good  little  rascal. 

82 


The  DRAMATIST 

RENE. — Papa  promised  me  that  he  was  going  to  take  me 
in  his  dog  cart. 

IRENE. — No,  sir,  no!  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  not 
allowed  to  go  out  without  me? 

RENE.— Oh ! 

IRENE. — First  of  all,  just  see,  you  are  wet,.  What  fool- 
ishness have  you  been  doing?  When  I  left  you,  you  were 
going  to  write  your  lessons  with  mademoiselle. 

Scene  V. 
The  same,  Fergan. 

FERGAN. — This  proves  that  mademoiselle  ceased  for  some 
time  to  have  any  influence  upon  the  lad. 

IRENE, — You  must  change  your  clothes  from  head  to 
foot 

FERGAN  (raising  his  shoulders). — Tut,  tut,  tut! 

PAULINE  (taking  RENE  by  the  hand,  to  IRENE).— 
Leave  him  with  me.  I  am  going  upstairs.  I  shall  give  him  a 
scolding,  like  all  the  aunties  know  how  to  scold.  (With  a 
feint  of  gravity.)  That  will  not  make  him  laugh  (tenderly) 
nor  cry.     (Exit  PAULINE  and  RENE.) 

Scene  VI. 
Irene,  Fergan. 

FERGAN  (a  bit  embarrassed). — I  want  to  discuss  with 
you  the  education  of  Rene. 

IRENE  (frightened).— Why  to-day? 

FERGAN. — Because  the  matter  cannot  be  delayed  any 
longer. 

IRENE.— Why? 

FERGAN. — He  is  almost  ten  years  of  age. 

IRENE.— Well? 

FERGAN. — Well,  up  to  this  time  I  gladly  recognized  that 
it  was  best  to  let  you  have  authority  over  him.  There  are 
thousands  of  primary  cares  which  only  the  mother  under- 
stands perfectly.  I  think  you  will  find  me  right  in  that.  Al- 
though disapproving  of  your  excess  of  attention,  I  never 
crossed  you. 

IRENE.— And  now? 

FERGAN. — Now,  as  our  son  grows  to  be  a  little  man,  it 
is  not  pleasing  to  me  that  you  should  make  a  young  lady  of 
him. 

IRENE. — Then  why  not  tell  me  how  to  rear  him? 

FERGAN. — I  am  no  more  competent  than  you  are  in  the 
details  of  education.  I  only  know  that  Rene  is  in  need  to-day 
of  a  broader  instruction.  We  should  not  limit  him  only  to  that 
which  is  given  in  the  family. 

83 


The DRAMATIST 

IRENE. — If  you  think  I  alone  am  not  sufficient,  let  us 
take  a  teacher,  or  if  necessary  several  teachers. 

FERGAN. — No,  that  is  not  the  point.  We  should  thus 
render  a  very  bad  service  to  the  boy.  When  of  age  he  will 
find  himself  unaccustomed  to  discipline,  to  emulation.  He 
would  have  no  self-confidence;  and  these  things  can  never  be 
acquired  except  in  a  college. 

IRENE. — Then  we  stand  again  at  the  vital  question.  How 
many  times  must  I  tell  you  that  this  will  be  a  murder,  a  real 
murder,  to  take  Rene  from  my  care? 

FERGAN. — Let  us  forego  inordinate  imagining.  Let  us 
be  serious.  Our  son  will  never  work  well  enough  at  our  side. 
You  love  him  too  much  in  a  very  passionate  manner.  You 
will  never  know^  how  to  be  severe  enough. 

IRENE  (indignantly). — And  you  would  like  to  hire  people 
to  be  severe  with  him?  A  poor  little  child  that  I  his  mother 
did  not  dare  to  believe  she  would  be  able  to  rear?  But  don't 
you  see  that  he  is  always  in  need  of  some  one  to  take  care  of 
him?  At  the  slightest  indisposition  he  coughs.  At  times  I 
rise  during  the  night  and  find  him  in  perspirations  which 
frighten  me. 

FERGAN. — Well,  this  is  just  exactly  what  angers  me,  and 
what  I  find  quite  ridiculous.  It  is  your  luxury  of  precautions 
that  does  not  give  him  enough  sunshine  and  good  fresh  air. 
The  little  gentleman,  I  think,  will  be  better  off  when  he  is  less 
spoiled. 

IRENE. — My  son  will  never  leave  me. 

FERGAN. — He  will  follow  my  example.  At  his  age  I  had 
already  been  two  years  in  a  boarding  school.  He  will  do  as  the 
children  of  all  our  neighbors,  as  the  children  of  all  the  people 
do.  He  will  come  here  Sunday;  I  shall  go  to  see  him.  You 
might  go  and  see  him  whenever  you  want — and  when  the  con- 
dition of  our  horses  will  permit  it. 

IRENE. — Rene  is  sick,  I  tell  you,  very  sick,  his  life  is  in 
doubt.    Oh !  I  know  it !    The  doctors  have  told  me. 

FERGAN.— What  doctors? 

IRENE.— All.  All  that  I  could  consult  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

FERGAN.— Did  you  do  that?    Without  my  knowledge? 

IRENE.— Yes. 

FERGAN. — This  is  absurd.  And  what  kind  of  sickness 
did  they  find  our  son  has? 

IRENE. — They  recognize  that 

FERGAN.— What? 

IRENE. — That  only  my  love  would  be  able  to  preserve 
him,  to  save  him,  through  a  daily  regime  and  by  an  every  mo- 
ment treatment. 

84 


The  DRAMATIST 

FERGAN. — Enough  empty  phrases!  When  somebody  is 
sick  his  malady  has  aname.    Please  be  precise. 

IRENE. — How  you  torment  me !  Don't  you  see  how  over- 
wrought I  am? 

FERGAN. — Oh!  the  doctors  could  easily  realize  what  you 
want  them  to  do.  You  brought  accommodating  diagnostics. 
And  then,  how  is  it?  You  are  a  healthy  woman;  I,  by  Jove!  I 
have  a  sound  body.  Is  it  with  such  antecedents  that  sickly 
children  are  born?  (IRENE  bends  her  head  during  these 
words,  which  embarrass  her.)  And  then  we  shall  see  how  our 
son  has  profited  from  his  first  year  away  from  home. 

IRENE.— Never. 

FERGAN.— What? 

IRENE. — You  will  never  convince  me  on  this  point.  I 
shall  never  give  him  up ! 

FERGAN. — Well,  then,  let  us  finish  immediately  this  use- 
less discussion.  Will  you  please  prepare  the  necessary  bag- 
gage for  Rene? 

IRENE.— For  what? 

FERGAN. — I  take  him  with  me  to  the  college 

IRENE.— Will  you?    Do  you  dare? 

FERGAN. — In  the  course  of  one  hour  I  want  to  leave. 

IRENE. — Oh!  this  will  never  happen.  It  is  the  life  of  my 
son  that  I  defend  against  your  horrible  error.  I  shall  keep  him 
if  it  were  necessary  day  and  night  in  my  arms. 

FERGAN. — I  see  you  are  exactly  as  I  knew  you  long  ago. 
You  compel  me  now  to  exert  all  the  power  as  a  father  tliat  I 
exerted  once  as  a  husband ! 

IRENE. — Don't  speak  of  what  you  have  done.  It  was  too 
great  a  triumph  for  you,  that  you  should  try  again.  I  bend  my 
head  with  still  more  hatred  in  my  heart.  I  hid  my  face,  and 
since  then  I  have  never  looked  you  straight  in  the  face.  But 
to-day  it  is  not  your  wife  who  stands  before  you,  and  whom 
you  oblige  to  defy  you ;  it  is  the  mother,  a  mother  whom  noth- 
ing will  move. 

FERGAN. — You  don't  know  the  rights  of  the  mother. 

IRENE  (with  a  fierce  contempt). — It  is  not  the  mothers 
who  abuse  their  rights!  We  women  feel  them.  They  assume 
form  with  us  just  as  the  child  forms  within  us,  and  our  eyes 
see  those  rights  growing,  bound  to  our  own  beings. 

FERGAN. — Once  more  I  say  I  am  right  by  law,  in  spite  of 
your  Utopian  ideas. 

IRENE. — Oh!  this  dreadful  word  comes  forth  again.  You 
also,  I  think,  are  playing  with  my  son's  life,  just  as  you  did 
when  you  destroyed  mine,  without  any  remorse,  with  these 
eyes  of  yours  as  imperturbable  as  an  executioner  in  accom- 
plishing his  duty! 

85 


The  DRAMATIST 

FERGAN. — You  may  say  whatever  you  please,  nothing 
will  deter  me  from  disposing  of  our  son. 

IRENE  (in  a  tragic  hesitation), — Do  you  think  I  do  not 
know  what  to  offer  as  an  argument? 

FERGAN. — Our  son  belongs  to  me  more  than  to  you,  ac- 
cording to  law. 

IRENE  (out  of  breath).— That  is  not  right. 

FERGAN. — In  spite  of  you,  it  is. 

IRENE.— No,  no ! 

FERGAN. — Go  see  to  his  departure. 

IRENE.— Listen ! 

FERGAN  (going  away). — No,  I  will  order  the  horses 
hitched. 

IRENE  (barring  his  way). — Before  God,  this  child  is  only 
mine! 

FERGAN  (pushing  her  back). — He  is  mine,  I  am  his 
father ! 

IRENE  (violently,  with  a  great  decisive  move). — You  are 
not  his  father ! 

FERGAN  (stupefied). — What?  are  you  becoming  a  fool? 

IRENE  (almost  restored  to  serenity). — No,  I  become 
frank,  open. 

FERGAN  (suffocated). — You  say  that?  Do  you  know 
what  you  say? 

IRENE.— I  know. 

FERGAN. — You  want  to  mislead  me.  This  phrase.  Un- 
believable. This  outrage.  This  is  your  last  recourse.  Talk 
rapidly,  but  talk. 

IRENE. — You  ask  for  proofs?  Well,  I'll  give  them  to  you. 
Do  you  remember  I  closed  the  door  of  my  chamber  against 
you?  I  tried  all  in  every  possible  manner  to  go  out  of  your 
way.    You  took  me  in  servitude. 

FERGAN  (with  a  fierce  voice). — And  then? 

IRENE. — Through  what  sentiment  do  you  think  I  could 
again  become  your  wife? 

FERGAN  (beginning  to  understand). — Oh! 

IRENE. — I  had  my  secret.  To  keep  my  child  safe  I  kept 
the  truth  hidden,  just  as  to  have  him  now  I  speak ! 

FERGAN  (rushing  upon  her). — You  contemptible  harlot! 

IRENE  (at  the  door  bell). — I  shall  call  your  servants. 

FERGAN  (mastering  himself).— The  scandal!  In  fact,  I 
know  now  that  no  infamy  could  have  kept  you. 

IRENE. — It  is  your  pitiless  logic  which  compelled  me  to 
lie — to  do  evil.    And  it  is  I  who  do  not  pardon  now. 

FERGAN.— That  man?    Did  I  ever  meet  him? 

IRENE.— Perhaps. 

FERGAN.— What  is  his  name? 

IRENE.— I  shall  never  say. 

86 


The  DRAMATIST 

FERGAN.— Did  he  come  here? 

IRENE.— No,  near  here. 

FERGAN. — I  cannot  realize  how  you  came  to  see  him. 

IRENE.— Nor  do  I. 

FERGAN.— Did  you  see  him  often? 

IRENE.—  !    !    ! 

FERGAN.— Do  you  still  see  him? 

IRENE  (hiding  from  him  the  sorrow  of  her  answer). — No; 
it  is  a  long  time  since  he  went  away,  very  far,  forever 

FERGAN. — And  don't  you  think  it  is  abominable  that  the 
son  of  your  lover  should  be  my  son,  and  must  remain  always 
my  son? 

IRENE. — Who  says  so?  It  is  your  own  law,  which  said 
that  in  spite  of  me,  in  spite  of  all,  I  shall  remain  your  wife ! 

FERGAN. — I  never  could  have  suspected  you.  I  knew  you 
as  my  enemy,  but — (tears  rise  in  his  eyes,  because  of  his  van- 
quished pride) — but  I  honored  you  as  such. 

IRENE. — Everybody  makes  war  according  to  his  means. 
You  employed  aU  your  might ;  I  had  naught  to  use  against  you 
(with  a  soft  voice),  but  my  weakness ! 

FERGAN. — I  did  nothing  but  stand  firmly  for  my  rights. 

IRENE. — Nature  has  her  rights  also. 

FERGAN  (maliciously). — At  least  haste  made  you  very 
imprudent.  By  exempting  me  from  my  duties  of  father  you 
cannot  take  away  my  authority.  You  have  betrayed  this  child 
with  whom  I  can  do  whatever  I  please. 

IRENE, — Now,  after  I  have  told  you  everything,  you  can 
do  nothing. 

FERGAN.— Is  that  so? 

IRENE  (with  authority). — Nothing  which  would  not  be  a 
cowardice,  an  impossible  vengeance. 

FERGAN.— The  worse ! 

IRENE. — No.  I  dared  make  this  revelation  because  I 
wanted  to  get  my  son  back  forever,  and  free  him  from  your 
very  polite  and  obliging  sentiments  of  a  man  pure  and  simply 
civilized. 

FERGAN  (menacing). — And  if  I  become  a  savage  now? 

Scene  VII. 
The  Same.    Rene. 

IRENE.— Rene!    My  God  ! 

RENE  (going  toward  FERGAN,  between  him  and 
IRENE.) Don't  we  go  out  soon,  papa? 

FERGAN  (agitated).— Hush! 

IRENE  (embracing  him). — Yes,  hush! 

FERGAN. — Send  him  away,  that  we  may  say  all  we  have 
yet  to  say. 

87 


The DRAMATIST 

IRENE  (to  RENE).— Go  and  wait  for  me  with  Aunt  Pau- 
line. 

RENE. — Why  did  papa  cry?    He  never  cries. 

IRENE  (willing  to  make  him  go,  with  a  soft  voice). — Go 
on! 

RENE. — How  is  it  that  you  don't  cry,  too,  you  who  always 
cry — when  you  think  that  nobody  is  seeing  you?  Oh,  I  have 
seen  you  often,  I 

IRENE  (embracing  him). — Ah!  my  dear,  no  more  tears. 
(Accompanying  him.)     Go,  go.    (Exit  RENE.) 

Scene  VIII. 

FERGAN. — The  child  is  now  your  own — ^yes !  I  leave  him 
to  you.  You  may  do  with  him  whatever  you  choose.  You  were 
right  when  you  said  that  I  cannot  do  him  any  injustice. 
(Weakening).  It  is  enough  that  I  realize  that  I  do  not  love 
him.  (With  authority.)  You  will  take  him  with  you.  You 
shall  go  away  with  him. 

IRENE. — I  shall  not  go  away. 

FERGAN.— What? 

IRENE. — I  shall  never  consent  to  be  cast  out.  For  my  son 
I  shall  sacrifice  nothing  of  his  regular  situation  and  of  the  con- 
sideration which  is  attached  to  his  legal — birth ! 

FERGAN. — I  shall  compel  you  then. 

IRENE.— No. 

FERGAN. — It  was  you  who  pleaded  so  ardently  for  di- 
vorce.   It  is  I  who  ask  it  now. 

IRENE. — I  shall  not  accept  it  now.  My  youth  has  gone, 
my  hopes  lost,  my  future  as  a  woman  is  dead.  I  refuse  to 
change  the  course  of  my  life,  to  budge,  to  move  out.  I  have 
but  the  will  to  remain  till  the  last  where  I  am  and  what  I  am. 

FERGAN. — And  you  expect  me  to  support  you? 

IRENE. — You  should.  You  have  nothing  against  me  ex- 
cept my  confession. 

FERGAN.— Would  you  deny  it? 

IRENE. — Would  you  dare  to  make  it  public?     (A  pause.) 

FERGAN  (annihilated). — Then  what  do  you  want  me  to 
do,  live  face  to  face  with  you  always?  Do  you  expect  me  to 
endure  such  a  life? 

IRENE. — You  have  to  endure  the  same  life  that  you  have 
imposed  upon  me  until  today.  We  have  come  to  the  same 
shore.  Now  make  yourself  comfortable,  so  that  you  can  feel 
the  weight  and  carry  it  also.  It  is  quite  a  long  while  that  I 
have  carried  it  £ilone. 

88 


The  DRAMATIST 

IRENE. — There  is  no  justice ! 

IRENE. — There  is  only  one,  of  a  common  unhappiness. 
FERGAN. — You  are  guilty  and  I  am  innocent. 
IRENE. — We  are  both  unhappy.     And  at  the  bottom  of 
misfortune  there  are  only  equals. 

THE  END. 


MRS.    DOT. 
A  Play  Without  a  Cause. 

Few  plays  of  the  past  season  have  been  so  utterly  unworth 
technical  discussion  as  "Mrs.  Dot"  by  W.  Somerset  Maugham. 
The  piece  was  doubtless  designed  as  the  lighter  vein  of  dra- 
matic composition,  but  the  thing  is  so  fearfully  shallow  it 
hardly  fits  the  definition  of  farce  or  comedy.  Considerable  com- 
mon sense  would  have  to  be  injected  to  give  it  even  the  sub- 
stance of  high  class  comic  opera. 

We  have  come  to  measure  all  manuscripts  worthy  of  the 
name  by  the  standards  of  human  life.  If  we  encountered  such 
a  simpering  flirt  in  real  form  as  "Mrs.  Dot"  is  portrayed  to  be, 
we  would  condemn  her  as  an  artificial  idiot.  The  character  is 
without  motive  for  the  reason  that  the  Play  is  without  Cause. 
And  here  we  draw  a  lesson  from  negative  qualities.  Conflict 
creates  character. 

Drama  is  not  primarily  built  upon  character.  There  must 
be  a  Cause  and  this  Cause  creates  Conflict  and  Conflict  is  the 
dominant  key  in  play  Construction.  But  who  can  imagine 
strong  situation  without  relatively  forceful  character  to  enact 
it?  Potent  Dramatic  Conflict,  then,  is  the  thing  to  strive  for. 
Create  this  and  a  wealth  of  personality  permeates  your  Play  as 
inevitably  as  the  apple  falls  to  the  ground. 

A    MAKER    OF    MEN. 
Alfred  Sutro's  One-Act  Drama. 

This  little  narrative  from  the  pen  of  a  noted  playwright  is 
positive  evidence  of  the  crying  need  of  scientific  study  of 
Drama.  If  Mr.  Sutro  understood  the  anatomy  of  the  creature 
he  is  trying  to  create  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  commit 
so  gross  a  blunder. 

A  husband  rebels  at  his  belated  promotion  in  a  bank.  A 
younger  man  attains  the  honor.  The  wife  consoles  him  with 
the  fact  that  she  is  content  with  her  children,  the  product  of 
their  great  and  wonderful  love.  He  becomes  reconciled.  Is  this 
a  Play? 

89 


DRAM 


Is  it  ;<:  Conflict  between  human  wills  or  is  this  bit  of  recita- 
tion a  mere  psychological  illustration  of  the  force  of  suggested 
thought?  The  drama  takes  place  in  the  husband's  mind.  He 
is  cajoled  out  of  the  blues  by  the  mental  suggestion  of  the 
wife.  Compare  this  Plot  with  the  contending  forces  that  go  to 
make  up  the  struggle  in  any  real  Play  and  you  will  see  that 
"A  Maker  of  Men"  is  mere  chatter. 


A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    MISSISSIPPI. 

The  Stuff  That  Real  Plays  Are  Made  Of. 

It  would  be  a  sad  blow  to  the  advocates  of  Dramatic  Sci- 
ence if  a  play  could  enjoy  the  long  run  accorded  "A  Gentleman 
from  Mississippi"  and  still  be  a  worthless  thing  structurally! 
The  frank  endorsement  of  public  opinion  would  tend  to  offset 
Science.  But  this  is  not  the  case.  Public  opinion  and  Science 
Concur.  The  Play  has  traits  of  master  workmanship.  It  has 
a  Theme.  The  authors  have  something  to  say.  The  simple 
little  sermon  of  their  story  ranks  the  Play  among  the  first. 

A  Southern  Senator  of  untested  moral  fibre  encounters  the 
customary  bribery  of  the  legislature.  To  overflow  his  cup  of 
temptation  the  financial  affairs  of  his  family  will  be  hopelessly 
wrecked  if  he  does  not  yield  to  the  lure  of  graft.  He  resists ! 
This  is  the  legitimate  story  of  the  Play.  The  triumph  of  Good 
in  a  rugged  heart ! 

The  type  of  the  Play  is  extremely  modern  and  drama  throbs 
while  the  valid  portion  of  the  Play  performs.  But  unfortu- 
nately there  are  foreign  features  of  construction  that  hark  back 
to  the  old  school  situation  of  complication  for  complication 
sake.  If  the  Plot  were  confined  to  this  excellent  story  and 
concluded  when  this  story  is  told  we  would  have  one  of  the 
strongest  specimens  of  modem  playwriting  extant. 

But  the  Play  is  not  allowed  to  stop  when  Conflict  ceases. 
At  the  end  of  Act  III  the  verdict  is  practically  rendered  but  the 
authors  proceed  with  a  fourth  to  stretch  out  something  we  al- 
ready know  and  in  their  helplessness  to  quit  a  thing  already 
finished  they  "ring  in"  spurious  episode.  This  results  in  dis- 
unity and  the  Plot  ingredients  of  several  other  Play  possibili- 
ties. 

Think  of  marrying  off  this  honest  old  codger  to  a  sophisti- 
cated Washington  widow  after  the  sanctifying  effect  he  has 
had  on  us !  Much  of  the  melodramatic  plottiness  of  Plot  could 
be  ripped  out  to  the  benefit  of  the  reality  of  illusion.  The  tra- 
ditional stage-made  villain  could  well  be  relegated  to  the  age 
that  knew  him  intimately. 

90 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE    GIRL    HE    COULDN'T    LEAVE 
BEHIND    HIM. 

Devoid    of    Sound    Sense. 

While  farce  is  not  supposed  to  be  of  a  serious  texture  there 
must  nevertheless  be  a  shadow  of  sense  in  the  Conditions  of 
its  Action  or  there  results  nothing  upon  which  the  audience 
can  rest  its  supposition  or  hypothesis.  To  persuade  us  that 
any  married  man  would  feel  obliged  to  keep  his  word  with  a 
Spanish  dancer  to  the  effect  that  he  is  to  devote  one  day  a  year 
to  said  dancer,  is  hardly  within  the  province  of  the  loosest  fan- 
tasy. The  husband,  through  such  inane  conduct  loses  all  claim 
to  interest,  let  alone  sympathy,  and  the  Conditions  of  the  Ac- 
tion being  lame,  the  Cause  limps  and  the  Conclusion  lan- 
guishes. 

The  production  should  be  a  lesson  to  those  who  have  not 
learned  that  this  brand  of  vapid  farce  is  obsolete.  Its  failure 
was  foredoomed!  There  is  as  much  difference  between  "The 
Girl  He  Couldn't  Leave  Behind  Him"  and  a  farce  like  "Seven 
Days"  as  between  "Enchained"  and  "Chinatown  Charlie."  It 
may  also  be  true  that  the  American  audience  is  sick  of  marital 
infidelity  and  masculine  depravity.  At  least  they  know  the  dif- 
ference instinctively,  between  true  dramatic  action  and  old 
time  "rough-house"  horseplay. 

For  lifeless,  unconvincing  types  of  character  this  cast  of 
fourteen  takes  the  jelly  cake.  And  even  the  negative  qualities 
of  structure  are  so  remote  from  rational  standards  that  it 
would  be  futile  to  discuss  them  in  parallel.  The  fact  that  Wil- 
liam Collier  directed  the  thing  is  an  added  evidence  that  the 
player  knoweth  not  the  Play. 


91 


The  DRAMATIST 

TWO     THEATRICAL     SEASONS 
COMPARED 


EVENTS  IN  PRODUCING  THEATRES. 

1908-9  1909-10 

Number  of  new  plays  74  102 

Number  of  new  musical  comedies 29  26 

Number  of  revived  plays    34  38 

Number  of  revived  musical  comedies 8  4 

Shakespearian  revivals   11  13 

Totals 156  183 

CLASSIFICATION  OF  PLAYS. 

Serious  and  sentimental  dramas 23  37 

Melodramas    19  26 

Romantic  comedies 4  10 

Light  comedies  16  10 

Tragedies    2  3 

Farces    10  16 

Totals 74  102 

SOURCES  OF  NEW  PLAYS 

Original  plays   59  74 

Adapted  from  foreign  plays 9  15 

Dramatized  from  novels  or  stories 6  13 

Totals  74  102 

NATIONALITY  OF  AUTHORS 

By  native  authors 56  63 

By  foreign  authors 18  39 

Totals 74  102 

NEW  MUSICAL  COMEDIES 

By  native  composers 26  18 

By  foreign  composers  3  8 

Totals 29  26 

A  study  of  the  foregoing  table  may  assist  the  dramatist  in 

determining  what  kind  of  play  to  write.  The  serious  and  sen- 
timental drama  appears  to  hold  the  record  for  popularity.  The 
new  author's  chances  are  indicated  by  the  102  new  plays  pro- 
jected. 

92  


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER  B. 

ANTHONY. 

E.di 

itor 

Vol.2 

EASTON, 

PA. 

No. 

I 

QUARTERLY 

1910 

OCTOBER 

Plays  of  the  Neb)  Season 

It  is  with  deep  regret  that  we  find  no  one  example  in  the 
Plays  of  the  opening  season  that  is  actually  worthy  of  praise. 
Several  half-hearted  efforts  have  received  the  approval  of  New 
York  Critics  but  the  fact  remains  that  there  is  not  a  specimen 
among  those  thus  far  produced  that  will  rank  with  Fitch  or 
Walter.  The  great  majority  of  the  new  arrivals  seem  designed 
for  that  hilarious  style  of  stage  management  familiar  to  farce 
or  musical  comedy.  Authors  are  temporarily  laboring  under 
the  delusion  that  boisterous  activity  is  related  to  Dramatic 
Action  little  heeding  the  fact  that  the  most  placid  happenings 
on  the  stage  frequently  contain  the  liveliest  essence  of  that 
subtle  force.  Nothing  is  more  certain  of  remedy  than  an 
abundance  of  this  tickling  in  the  ribs  for  while  the  sensation 
may  delight  the  infant  mind  of  an  audience  momentarily,  a 
continued  application  of  the  author's  knuckles  in  the  region  of 
the  wishbone  ceases  to  be  a  source  of  ecstatic  joy.  Welcome 
to  the  avalanche  of  fun  forcers  born  of  a  commercial  effort  to 
fill  the  overbuilt  theatre  situation!  For  despite  the  praise  of 
critics  these  mirth  producers  are  failing  one  by  one  and  before 
many  days  it  is  safe  to  say  the  legitimate  brand  of  drama  as 
advocated  by  our  friend  Belasco  will  again  hold  sway.  The 
class  who  attend  the  comic  opera  are  hardened  to  this  snicker- 
ing sort  of  silliness  but  when  the  playgoer  is  confronted  with 
horseplay  farce  put  up  in  the  shape  of  drama  he  is  apt  to  com- 
plain of  false  pretense. 

Here's  to  the  Art  of  Playwriting,  conspicuous  for  its  ab- 
sence ! 

BELASCO    ON    TECHNIQUE. 

His  Advice  to  the  Novitiate. 

"The  Dramatist's  profession,  MORE  THAN  ANY 
OTHER,  calls  for  preparation,  for  study." 

"The  greater  number  of  these  hastily  enlisted  aspirants 
have  NOT  EVEN  AN  ELEMENTARY  conception  of  the 
qualifications  requisite  for  one  who  is  going  to  make  a  busi- 
ness of  Playwriting." 

93 


The  DRAMATIST 

"The  demands  of  the  Drama  upon  its  creators  are  greater 
than  those  of  any  other  Art." 

"Above  all  he  should  study !  This  is  the  one  thing  at  which 
the  would  be  dramatist  most  often  balks.  He  will  not  study. 
Ninety-five  out  of  a  hundred  do  not  seem  even  to  feel  the  ne- 
cessity for  study." 

"If  I  could  use  but  one  word  in  which  to  sum  up  the  advice 
of  which  young  playwrights  seem  to  stand  more  in  need,  the 
word  I  should  choose  is:  CONCENTRATE!" 

— From  the  Sunday  Magazine. 

Mr.  Belasco  goes  on  to  say  that  of  the  many  thousands  of 
Plays  he  examines  the  greater  portion  of  them  are  rendered 
valueless  from  a  producing  standpoint  through  their  lack  of 
concentration.  He  cautions  the  raw  hand  against  utilizing 
two  or  three  heroes,  heroines,  or  villains,  all  more  or  less 
equal  importance.  He  advises  singling  out  "one  couple  from 
among  the  characters"  and  concentrating  upon  them  the  atten- 
tion, interest  and  affection  of  the  audience  ruthlessly  thrusting 
into  the  background  any  figure  that  steps  forward  and  threat- 
ens to  disturb  the  priority  of  interest  the  leading  characters 
enjoy. 

This  is  a  left  hand  method  of  stating  a  very  importarrt  dra- 
matic truth.  We  say  left  hand  for  Mr.  Belasco  has  not  said 
exactly  what  he  means.  With  the  stage  manager's  conscience 
uppermost  he  is  trying  to  pay  tribute  to  that  magnificent  Law 
of  Drama  called  UNITY.  If  the  Dramatist's  conscience  pre- 
dominated, however,  he  would  see  this  thing  as  the  Unity  of 
the  Action  in  the  Play  and  not  any  Unity  of  Actors. 

Let  the  amateur  writer  concentrate  his  attention  upon  the 
characters  instead  of  the  structure  of  the  Play  and  you  would 
soon  find  an  elaborate  TALK  between  two  people.  The  bet- 
ter admonition  might  be  to  concentrate  upon  ONE  PLAY. 
But  to  make  this  precaution  clear  it  would  be  necessary  for  the 
student  to  learn  the  real  meaning  of  the  term  Play  and  this  is 
impossible  without  careful  investigation  of  the  One  Specific 
Conflict  that  constitutes  every  Play  possibility.  The  more  this 
Conflict  is  concentrated  the  narrower  becomes  the  group  of 
principal  characters  naturally.  The  "one  couple  from  among 
the  characters"  is  thus  acquired  in  a  truly  dramatic  and  tech- 
nical fashion.  In  other  words :  "The  Play's  the  Thing."  Build 
the  Play  and  the  characters  will  take  care  of  themselves.  A 
Play  of  Unity  will  contain  characters  that  concentrate  the  in- 
terest, desires  and  sympathies  of  the  audience. 

The  five  injunctions  above  quoted  would  be  valuable  pre- 
cepts for  the  tyro.  If  you,  dear  reader,  fail  to  see  the  infinite 
truth  in  any  of  these,  have  a  copy  made  to  decorate  your  study 
walls,  and  con  them  over  till  you  recognize  their  value. 

94 


The  DRAMATIS! 

HERVIEU'S   REPLY   TO    OUR   CRITICISM 


FURTHER  STUDY  OF  THE  PLAY  "ENCHAINED." 

Paris,  August  6,  19  lo. 

Dear  Sir: 

I  received  your  admirable  letter  and  magazine  at  the  very 
minute  I  was  starting  on  a  voyage  and  am  answering  hur- 
riedly after  taking  notice  of  the  critical  observations  which  pre- 
cede your  translation  of  "Les  Tenailles." 

I  found  these  observations  highly  satisfactory  as  a  whole. 
The  two  Scenes  which  are  judged  less  favorably  are  Scenes  of 
exposition.  The  first  in  Act  I  and  the  first  in  Act  III,  which 
takes  place  ten  years  later.  These  two  require  a  few  minutes 
of  information  for  the  audience.  The  exposition  is  always 
slower  than  the  action,  and  seems  longer;  but  we  could  not 
dispense  with  this  even  if  the  spectators  could  guess  what  is 
going  to  happen,  and  in  such  case,  the  theatrical  intrigue, 
would  not  excite  in  them*  any  further  curiosity. 

Please  accept  the  expression  of  my  confraternal  compli- 
ments. 

PAUL  HERVIEU. 


This  is  an  exceedingly  int;  resting  letter  for  it  represents 
the  view  of  one  of  the  foremost  Dramatists  of  that  Nation 
which  has  long  been  the  criterion  on  technique.  If  what  M. 
Hervieu  states  of  "Exposition"  is  correct,  then  the  highest 
American  authority  on  Dramatic  Principle  is  sadly  at  fault. 
But  let  us  examine  into  this  thing  called  Exposition  and  weigh 
its  worth. 

Brander  Matthews  speaks  of  Exposition  as  an  introduction 
of  the  several  characters,  information  as  to  their  past  lives  and 
as  to  their  present  desires.  Alfred  Hennequin  defines  Exposi- 
tion as  follows:  "It  is  necessary,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Play, 
to  put  the  spectator  in  possession  of  aU  the  facts  necessary  to 
a  perfect  comprehension  of  the  story  as  it  unrolls  before  him." 
Neither  of  these  statements  may  convey  Hervieu's  idea  of 
"Exposition"  but  they  will  serve  our  purpose  in  assailing  this 
notion  that  explanatory  matter  should  precede  the  actual  Play. 
For  we  hold  that  this  theatrical  tradition  is  a  violation  of  art 
and  not  a  dramatic  principle  in  any  sense  of  the  word.  We 
shall  endeavor  to  show  in  the  instance  of  the  two  Scenes  in 
question  how  the  substance  of  "Exposition"  should  be  implied 
along  with  Plot  progress  and  not  constitute  a  separate  entity. 

95 


The  DRAMATIST 

Scene  I,  Act  I. 

The  pet  weakness  of  Ibsen  was  this  "Exposition"  idea  of 
bringing  in  the  past  lives  of  his  characters.  He  was  a  past 
master  at  this  stunt  and  for  that  reason  is  not  a  highly  profit- 
able model  for  technique.  The  Play  that  most  nearly  ap- 
proaches perfection  is  undoubtedly  the  one  in  which  the  Con- 
flict is  ALL  of  the  present  with  absolutely  no  encumbrance  of 
ancient  history.  This  is  the  case  with  Ibsen's  "An  Enemy  to 
the  People"  and  Shakespeare's  "Macbeth."  If  we  see  the  Plot 
unfold  before  us  on  the  stage  and  are  not  called  upon  to  listea 
to  the  story  of  the  lives  of  any  of  the  characters  we  naturally 
concentrate  our  attention  more  readily  upon  Plot.  Our  ener- 
gies are  not  wasted. 

Now  in  studying  the  first  Scene  in  Act  I  we  note  that  noth- 
ing comes  across  the  footlights  that  the  eye  can  reach.  It  is 
all  for  the  ear.  The  past  ten  years  of  married  life  is  reported. 
Wherever  this  historical  tendency  prevails  there  is  bound  to  be 
a  lapse  of  interest.  It  results  from  the  author's  attempt  to 
speak  through  the  medium  of  his  characters  in  place  of  motiv- 
ating them  to  say  the  inevitable  thing. 

Hervieu  says  that  "The  theatrical  intrigue  would  not  excite 
further  curiosity"  in  the  souls  of  the  spectators.  Would  there 
be  more  curiosity  or  less  curiosity  if  we  actually  saw  the  hus- 
band in  this  first  Scene  and  learned  the  relation,  first  hand,  be- 
tween husband  and  wife?  There  would  be  more  curiosity — 
there  would  be  a  hundredfold  more  interest. 

Nothing  HAPPENS  in  thi"  first  Scene,  Some  intimation 
is  made  of  what  is  ABOUT  TO  HAPPEN  but  this  is 
TALKED  into  the  audience  and  in  no  way  becomes  evidence 
in  possession  of  the  spectator  as  would  a  direct  presentation 
by  means  of  a  quarrel  between  the  two  principals  concerned. 
The  shortest  distance  between  two  points  in  a  straight  line. 
This  is  true  of  Play  and  Audience.  If  we  permit  interest  to 
take  a  circuitous  route  we  are  not  making  the  shortest  dis- 
tance. It  is  like  incidents  in  every  day  life.  What  you  see  of 
the  happenings  of  events  becomes  much  MORE  REAL  than 
what  is  told  you. 


Scene  I,  Act  III. 

The  construction  of  this  Scene  is  much  the  same  as  Scene  I, 
Act  I.  It  takes  place  between  one  principal  and  one  disinter- 
ested character.  Nothing  is  said  because  it  has  to  be  said  but 
merely  "To  put  the  spectator  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  ne- 
cessary" after  a  lapse  of  ten  years  between  Acts. 

The  chief  facts  that  we  get  from  this  Scene  are  that  Fergan 
is  still  the  tyrant  and  that  having  apparently  triumphed  in  the 

96 


The  DRAMATIST 

matter  cf  subjugating  his  wife  has  now  transposed  his  means 
of  torment  to  her  separation  from  a  ten  year  old  son.  Hervieu 
tells  us  that  "even  if  the  spectators  could  guess  what  is  going 
to  happen  we  could  not  dispense  with  exposition — the  theatri- 
cal intrigue  would  not  excite  in  them  any  further  curiosity." 

This  is  almost  equivalent  to  saying  the  audience  cannot 
interpret  what  they  see,  that  they  must  be  told  beforehand 
what  is  about  to  be  pictured.  M.  Hervieu  does  not  believe 
this.  He  knows  that  the  audience  is  never  so  flattered  as  when 
they  are  allov/ed  to  divine  (As  they  think)  the  progress  of  the 
Play  as  it  actually  transpires  before  their  eyes.  If,  without 
further  notice,  the  curtain  rises  upon  a  mother  with  gray  hair 
and  a  ten  year  old  son,  it  is  surely  not  necessary  to  TELL 
the  audience  that  ten  years  have  elapsed. 

If  we  see  the  actual  preparation  for  the  separation  of 
mother  and  child  and  learn  from  the  father's  cautioning  that 
this  cruel  disruption  is  to  be  a  surprise  to  her,  the  spectators 
actually  possess  the  information,  first  hand,  and  the  bugbear 
of  "Exposition"  is  eliminated.  Is  there  any  loss  of  curiosity? 
Is  there  any  loss  of  Drama?  To  say  this  would  be  strangling 
the  very  essence  of  drama  itself.  For  there  is  no  keener  inter- 
est possible  than  that  aroused  in  the  souls  of  a  theatre  audience 
by  means  of  the  visual  thing  before  them ! 

Much  the  same  criticism  applies  to  Scenes  II  and  III  of  this 
Act.  They  are  not  valid  Scenes  because  they  leave  the  anvil 
when  the  iron  is  shaping.  Scene  II  gives  an  irrelevant  in- 
stance of  the  husband's  further  tyranny,  but  have  we  not  had 
sufficient  evidence  of  this  within  the  bounds  of  legitimate  ma- 
terial? Scene  III  goes  to  TELL  the  audience,  (and  with 
much  effort)  of  Irene's  past  with  Michel.  This  information 
could  be  deftly  woven  into  the  momentary  progress  of  Plot 
and  be  brought  out,  as  it  should  be,  in  a  Scene  between  the 
only  two  principals  concerned — husband  and  wife. 

Next  Discussion. 

In  the  January  Dramatist  we  will  analyse  the  Unity  and 
Disunity  of  "Enchained."  Look  sharp  for  breaches  of  this 
principal.  It  is  only  by  cultivating  your  powers  of  analysis 
that  you  v/ill  become  an  efficient  critic  of  your  own  work. 

MOTHER. 

Based  Upon  the  Third  Law  of  Nature. 

There  are  three  cardinal  Laws  of  Nature:  Self  Preserva- 
tion, Reproduction  and  Preservation  of  Offspring.  The  nearer 
any  author  comes  to  any  one  of  the  fundamental  Themes  of 

97 


The  DRAMATIST 

life  the  more  certain  is  he  of  universal  acceptance  by  an  audi- 
ence. From  a  review  of  these  Laws  and  the  Play  we  are  dis- 
cussing it  will  be  seen  that  Mr.  Goodman  has  availed  the  Third 
Law :  The  preservation  of  offspring  or  a  mother's  love  for  her 
child.  Technically  he  has  improved  upon  "The  Man  Who 
Stood  Still"  in  a  small  degree  but  in  choice  of  Theme  he  has 
made  a  lucky  strike.  This  same  Theme  made  "The  Music 
Master"  such  a  powerful  drawing  card,  even  though  in  tech- 
nique it  was  little  better  than  "Mother." 

But  the  novice  maj^  inquire :  "What's  the  good  of  technique 
if  we  can  make  a  hit  without  it."  It  does  seem  true  that  if  the 
public  v/ill  stand  for  this  crudeness  of  construction  that  we 
might  let  it  go  at  that  but  let  us  take  a  glance  at  conditions. 
Here  are  nearly  a  hundred  theatres  in  New  York  all  clamoring 
for  plays.  Good  Plays  are  not  available.  This  is  clearly  de- 
monstrated by  the  fact  that  there  is  not  a  new  Play  in  New 
York  that  comes  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  GOOD  stan- 
dard. And  by  this  standard  we  mean  the  average  set  by  the 
hundreds  of  Plays  of  all  times  that  go  down  to  enduring  suc- 
cess. 

The  underlying  principles  of  good  Play  construction  do 
not  change  and  whether  it  is  Sophocles,  Scribe,  Shakespeare 
or  Walter  the  same  laws  hold  good.  Only  customs  change.  If 
any  of  these  authors  transgress  these  principles,  the  law  still 
remains,  but  in  the  measure  of  their  best  results  we  see  the 
operation  of  eternal  dramatic  principle.  It  is  by  this  omnipres- 
ent standard,  then,  that  we  judge  the  Plays  of  aspirants. 
Nearly  every  dramatist  on  Broadway  this  morning,  is  an  aspi- 
rant and  not  a  matured  fact.  The  day  will  soon  come  when 
this  overflow  of  theatres  will  seek  its  own  level,  then  look  out 
for  the  standard  of  good  Plays.  Even  at  this  dawn  of  a  new 
season  Plays  are  going  down  on  all  sides  and  a  few  managers 
prefer  to  keep  their  theatres  dark  rather  than  risk  the  stuff  that 
is  available. 

The  central  idea  in  "Mother"  is  that  parent's  sacrince  of 
home,  fortune  and  the  birthright  of  her  3'ounger  children  to 
make  good  the  forgery  and  mis-appropriation  of  a  worthless 
son.  It  does  not  concern  an  older  sister's  self  denial  in  sacri- 
ficing her  lover  to  the  younger  girl,  nor  the  younger  sister's 
broken  heart  at  the  reverse  in  these  said  love  affairs.  It  does 
not  concern  the  younger  brother's  escapade  with  the  forsaken 
sister  of  the  worthless  wife  of  the  forger.  It  does  not  concern 
the  mother's  love  affair  with  the  family  attorney.  Yet  all  these 
divergant  sub-themes  are  mortgaged  on  to  the  Plot  proper 
until  it  becomes  the  chief  problem  of  the  Play  to  untangle  this 
web  of  conflicting  ideas  that  we  may  follow  the  valid  thread  of 
the  central  idea.  For,  stripped  of  these  unnecessary  and  irrele- 
vant adjuncts  the  principal  theme  would  be  a  powerful  drama 

98 


The  DRAIMATIST 

in  keeping  with  the  Play  standard  of  all  ages.  Any  competent 
dramatist  could  take  this  Theme  and  Plot  and  build  a  good 
Play  out  of  it.  The  germ  is  there  but  the  bacteria  will  not 
allow  it  a  legitimate  and  steady  growth. 

Now  how^  may  an  author  remedy  such  defects  of  Art?  He 
must  avail  the  positive  qualities  of  pla5rwriting  explored  by  the 
pioneers  of  his  craft !  Each  of  them  added  some  new  light  on 
the  subject  and  the  past  decade  has  seen  more  progress  than 
any  century  preceding.  There  is  little  chance  for  the  most  en- 
terprising aspirant  to  catch  up  with  the  procession  without 
some  competent  instruction.  For  the  standard  will  be  ad- 
vanced more  rapidly  in  the  next  ten  years  than  in  all  the  cen- 
turies back  of  it.  Drama  is  coming  into  its  own!  The  best 
minds  of  the  country  are  turning  their  attention  to  its  study 
and  the  science  of  the  Art  is  gradually  being  formulated.  No 
Play  will  be  built  by  technic  any  more  than  speech  will  be 
m.ade  by  the  science  of  grammar  but  to  omit  this  sum  of  uni- 
versal knowledge  in  either  instance  breeds  despair !  Moral : 
study  every  available  work  on  dramaturgy  and  observe  parti- 
cularly the  operation  of  the  rigid  principles  of  playwriting  in 
good  and  bad  plays ! 

THE    COUNTRY     BOY. 

An  Excellent  Theme  Miscarried. 

There  is  no  better  example  extant  today  of  the  Play  "that 
might  have  been"  than  Edgar  Selv/yn's  latest  attempt.  With 
apparently  no  conviction  that  a  good  play  must  be  built  by 
structural  Scenes  but  v/ith  the  idea  that  any  little  stunt  that 
brings  a  laugh  or  a  tear  is  valid,  he  has  thrown  together  a  m.ed- 
ley  of  mill  ends  that  is  remarkable  more  for  its  irrelevant  epi- 
sodes than  for  its  Unity  of  purpose. 

Of  these  various  stunts  the  best,  perhaps,  is  a  boarding 
house  Scene  in  the  second  act.  The  callous  existence  of  the 
prisoner  of  a  city  hash  shop  is  cleverly  depicted.  But  unfortu- 
nately the  Scene  itself  does  not  contribute  to  Plot  and  cannot, 
therefore,  be  reckoned  an  integral  part  of  his  Play.  It  would 
make  a  neat  little  vaudeville  skit  and  its  severance  from  the 
main  structure  would  not  injure  the  interpretation  of  either 
Play  or  sketch. 

Like  many  other  commercial  writers  who  have  been  carried 
away  by  the  sudden  success  of  "Seven  Days"  Mr.  Selwyn  has 
listened  to  the  laughs  of  this  record  breaker  and  worked  in 
the  traditional  "comic  relief"  despite  the  fact  that  his  Play  is  of 
the  pathetic  variety.  Nothing  can  be  more  irrational  than  this 
notion  that  a  good  Play  is  a  "blending  of  laughter  and  tears." 
This  catch  phrase  is  the  cry  of  the  compromise  author  and  is 
thoroughly  riddled  by  the  success  of  such  plays  as  "Madam 
X.,"  "Paid  in  Full"  and  "The  Lily."     Barely  a  smile  creeps 

99 


T       h       e DRAMATIST 

into  the  lines  of  any  of  these  Plays  and  yet  managers  and 
agents  alike  cling  to  the  theory  that  is  in  no  wise  manifest  in 
the  very  Plays  they  have  produced  successfully.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  if  an  untried  author  took  a  masterpiece  to  any  of  the 
managers  of  these  three  successes  he  would  be  advised  to  etch 
in  a  little  "comic  relief."  Hark  to  these  theatric  conventions 
and  you  will  write  the  same  sort  of  stuff  that  is  closing  the 
theatres  in  New  York  this  season.  Let  Theme  govern  the  na- 
ture of  your  Play  and  all  things  being  equal  you  will  command 
both  sympathy  and  interest  of  your  audience.  Truth  and  not 
tradition  is  the  ruling  power !  A  giggling  auditor  is  no  certain 
sign  of  a  satisfied  patron  against  the  competition  of  a  Play 
built  upon  Theme. 

But  apart  from  such  gross  disunity  "The  Country  Boy" 
lacks  one  fundamental  essential :  CLARITY  !  In  the  first  half 
of  Act  I  there  is  no  defined  purpose.  The  author  wanders  aim- 
lessly about  the  stage  in  the  very  thin  disguise  of  characters 
unknown  to  the  audience  attempting  to  TELL  you  what  his 
Play  is  going  to  be  about  instead  of  starting  the  Act  with  the 
actual  representation  of  something  doing.  Hogs,  chickens  and 
automobile  vicissitudes  all  ring  in  a  "comic  relief"  before  any 
background  is  made  to  require  it.  Of  course  the  audience  tit- 
ter for  they  come  to  the  theatre  to  submit  themselves  to  the 
playwright's  illusion  and  with  the  customary  appetite  for  en- 
tertainment they  seize  these  symptoms  of  a  dawning  Plot 
thinking  it  the  promise  of  a  play. 

The  Play  proper  does  not  attempt  to  start  until  these  intro- 
ductory efforts  of  the  author  are  over.  When  we  see  the  "coun- 
try boy"  and  his  sweetheart  quarrelling  over  her  criticism  of 
his  idle  shiftlessness  we  begin  to  see  what  the  Play  will  be 
about  WITHOUT  BEING  TOLD  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 
This  is  what  we  mean  by  the  ACTUAL  REPRESENTA- 
TION. It  is  essentially  NOT  TALK!  The  characters  speak 
from  compulsion  generated  by  the  complication  in  which  they 
have  been  placed.  The  author's  only  mission  is  to  PLACE 
them  and  then  see  to  it  that  truth  and  a  fair  deal  characterize 
their  attitudes.  The  curtain  would  do  well  to  rise  here  elimi- 
nating all  the  spurious  effort  to  foretell  what  we  now  SEE 
represented.    It  tells  itself ! 

This  first  sign  of  drama  gives  us  reason  to  expect  a  Play 
concerning  the  character  building  of  a  worthless  youth  similar 
to  that  excellent  idea  contained  in  "The  Fortune  Hunter." 
No  doubt  Mr.  Selwyn  received  his  impetus  to  write  a  regenera- 
tion drama  from  the  pronounced  success  of  that  simple  sermon 
comedy.    But  the  artifice  of  theatredom  betrayed  him ! 

The  "Country  Boy"  goes  to  the  city  to  do  big  things  and 
rnake  a  name  for  himself.  He  falls  desperately  in  love  with  a 
simpering  chorus  girl  just  to  please  the  author  for  we  are  not 

100 


The  DRAMATIST 

convinced  that  the  boy  even  though  he  comes  from  the  coun- 
try is  such  an  aimless  dupe.  We  are  carried  through  further 
purposeless  Scenes  with  the  boy's  sweetheart  introduced, 
without  rhyme  or  reason,  and  the  lad's  abject  poverty  until  we 
arrive  at  the  funniest  situation  in  the  entire  Play!  The 
despondent  youth  is  rejected  by  the  fickle  footlight  beauty 
whereupon  he  endeavors  to  disconnect  himself  from  this 
wicked  world  by  closer  association  with  the  gas  fixture.  Here 
indeed  is  the  satire  of  the  "comic  relief"  convention  brought 
about  by  the  companion  superstition  that  theatrical  effect  is 
the  thing  to  be  achieved  at  the  expense  of  reason,  truth  and 
common  sense.  But  again  the  law  of  horse  sense  asserts  itself 
for  the  audience  engage  in  a  universal  titter.  Theme  has  been 
outraged  and  they  laugh  at  the  author  and  not  with  him. 

Well,  the  boy  is  interrupted  in  his  free  lunch  of  asphyxiat- 
ing fluid  by  a  fellow  boarder  who  divines  his  purpose  and  in  a 
rather  commendable  Scene  diverts  the  youngster  by  a  truly 
dramatic  means.  Intimation  of  the  fact  that  his  companion  is 
about  to  commit  a  similar  deed  rouses  remonstrance  in  the 
boy's  soul  and  this  is  the  occasion  of  his  reform.  He  is  going 
back  to  the  little  country  town  to  make  a  name  for  himself 
there!  We  thrill  with  approbation  at  this  resolution.  But 
alas!  Our  hopes  are  shattered!  At  the  very  moment  when 
our  young  hero  has  a  chance  to  stand  for  what  is  good,  he 
falls.  At  the  request  of  his  sweetheart  her  father's  iniquity  is 
winked  at  and  the  boy  who  was  about  to  become  something 
compromises  with  his  own  lofty  ideals  to  save  the  father-in- 
law's  reputation.  It  is  in  this  respect  that  we  contend  an  ex- 
cellent Theme  has  miscarried. 

BOBBY    BURNIT. 

Early  Promise  of  Craftsmanship  Not  Kept. 

When  is  a  Dramatist  not  a  dramatist?  When  he  fails  to 
dramatize!  This  is  the  case  with  Winchell  Smith  in  his  late 
effort  at  making  a  Play  out  of  another  man's  novel.  He  has 
not  transformed  fiction  into  drama.  The  Play  begins  with 
Talk  and  Ends  with  Talk.  The  characters  do  not  speak  be- 
cause they  are  factors  in  a  Dramatic  Problem  compelled  to 
do  so  by  the  ever  advancing  Plot  but  merely  to  voice  the  au- 
thor's effort  to  tell  the  novel  narrative  in  dialog  form. 

"Bobby  Bumit"  is  far  inferior  to  Mr.  Smith's  two  season 
success  "The  Fortune  Hunter"  and  does  not  fulfill  the  promise 
made  in  the  technic  of  that  Play.  The  author  has  many 
years  of  hard  study  before  him  if  we  are  to  judge  by  this 
miserable  makeshift  of  dramatization.  There  was  truth  and 
verity  in  the  earher  product  while  in  this  nothing  but  the  crud- 
est farce  abides.     The  author  has  caught  the  fetch-a-laugh 

lOI 


The  DRAMATIST 

fever  which  is  now  rampant  in  New  York  City  where  horse 
sense  is  substituted  by  horse  play  and  legitimate  drama  is 
turned  into  vaudeville  absurdities. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  this  wild-goose  chase  for  nonsense 
leads  an  author  astray?  Mr,  Smith  begins  with  a  Plot  about 
one  thing  and  winds  up  with  another.  A  department  store,  a 
gas  plant  and  then  a  newspaper.  "Bobby"  dabbles  in  all  of 
these  and  with  magi.'  capacity  defeats  his  enemies  who  were 
pioneers  at  the  game.  And  how  does  he  defeat  them?  What 
is  the  trump  card?  He  secures  a  majority  of  stock  in  a  corpo- 
ration by  forcing  a  man  who  thinks  he  has  killed  a  comrade  to 
sign  a  transfer  in  order  to  purchase  silence.  This  is  the  crown- 
ing climax  of  the  Play  and  the  gentle  auditor  is  asked  to  be- 
lieve that  a  man  thus  tricked  out  of  his  collateral  would  make 
no  effort  to  regain  same  and  that  "Bobby"  is  a  smart  hero  for 
perpetrating  so  commendable  a  sham. 

Other  little  incongruities  like  a  department  store  proprietor 
appointing  a  girl  for  the  trustee  of  his  son  we  can  overlook, 
even  though  the  author  does  insist  upon  concealing  her  iden- 
tity all  during  the  time  she  should  be  trusteeing  the  will.  This 
young  lady  is  required  to  fall  into  the  arms  of  "Bobby"  at  just 
the  right  time  so  we  will  stand  for  her.  Such  absurdities  sink 
into  insignificance  compared  with  the  naked  gaps  of  structure ! 

But  tihere  is  one  consolation.  Each  such  failure  of  this  arti- 
ficial type  of  play  is  one  more  victory  for  Dramatic  Art !  Each 
such  negative  demonstration  makes  a  possible  convert  to  the 
positive  Science  of  play  construction.  Apprentices  will  leam 
that  the  realm  of  Drama  is  governed  BY  LAW  and  that  this 
Law  plays  no  favorites !  The  only  Dramatists  who  have  made 
enduring  success  are  those  who  have  conformed  to  Dramatic 
LAW.  Empiricists  may  cry  down  this  theory  only  to  be 
finally  hit  by  the  operation  of  the  thing  they  revile — LAW ! 

THE  COMMUTERS. 
Forbes  Takes  a  Step  Backwards. 
It  is  always  interesting  to  watch  the  after  product  of  a  man 
who  has  made  good  in  his  first  Play.  James  Forbes  hit  the 
mark  in  "The  Chorus  Lady"  and  came  preciously  near  a  repe- 
tition of  this  achievement  in  "The  Traveling  Salesman"  at 
least,  he  made  one  good  character  in  the  "Salesman"  himself. 
This  inspired  the  confidence  of  managers  and  he  was  sought  as 
a  maker  of  sure  plays,  a  circumstance  calculated  to  test  the 
true  worth  of  a  Dramatist.  Possibly  no  Playwright  is  reliable 
until  he  has  reached  this  state  where  ready  money  awaits  his 
effort.  If  he  can  look  the  anticipated  currency  square  in  the 
face  and  still  cling  to  the  definition  of  Drama  while  he  draws 
the  money,  he  has  indeed  passed  the  acid  test.  This  feat  Mr. 
Forbes  has  not  performed. 

102 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  only  dramatic  quality  in  the  latest  output  is  its  name: 
"The  Commuters."  The  Play  has  a  valuable  title  which  the 
Plot  fails  to  live  up  to.  If  we  were  to  take  Mr.  Forbes'  mea- 
sure from  this  specimen  we  would  be  compelled  to  think  he 
had  everything  to  learn  but  the  trick  of  fetching  laughs.  For 
he  certainly  does  make  fun  even  at  the  expense  of  the  ancient 
annals  of  this  emotion.  He  makes  laughing  a  contagion  of  a 
rather  unhealthful  sort  for  he  propagates  this  response  by  the 
most  artificial  performers  exaggerating  and  distorting  every 
atom  of  mirth  to  the  highest  pitch  of  affectation.  At  times  this 
patent  laugh  provoking  process  sinks  to  the  level  of  the  hyp- 
notic hysterics  handed  out  by  the  average  vaudeville  hot-air 
artist.  There  is  nothing  real  in  the  representation.  Every 
chuckle  is  a  cheap  theatric  hold-up. 

Mr.  Forbes'  two  other  Plays  had  Plots.  This  one  is  devoid 
of  either  Plot  or  story.  Such  an  accident  might  happen  with  a 
Dramatist  if  he  were  carried  away  by  the  strength  of  one  or 
more  vital  characters,  but  this  is  surely  not  the  case  in  "The 
Commuters."  None  of  the  characters  come  within  arm's 
length  of  "The  Chorus  Lady"  or  the  "Salesman."  In  fact  the 
delusion  that  snared  the  author  is  difficult  to  discern.  There 
is  a  similarity  to  "V/hat  Happened  to  Jones"  in  Mr.  Forbes' 
first  act,  in  the  commuting  husband  who  brings  home  a 
drunken  companion  of  the  night  before.  But  "The  Commuter" 
lacks  that  splendid  CAUSE  that  holds  "What  Happened  to 
Jones"  together.  In  the  latter  piece  Jones,  the  gambler,  lands 
in  the  Professor's  house  because  they  were  chased  there  by  the 
police  who  raided  a  prize  fight.  In  "The  Commuters"  the  man 
of  the  house  himself  was  so  eternally  soused  that  the  gambler 
goes  to  bed  and  the  husband  does  not  learn  that  "Sammy"  is 
in  the  house  until  the  next  morning.  Even  then  the  event  is 
so  miserably  handled  that  all  of  the  drama  that  could  be  made 
of  it  is  LOST  for  want  of  giving  the  audience  this  information 
from  the  opening  of  the  play.  We  do  not  learn  of  the  fact  un- 
til the  very  last  minute  of  the  first  Act.  If  this  unusual  lodger 
had  been  utilized  as  a  cause  for  the  "commuter's"  extended 
delay  in  making  ready  for  his  early  morning  train  there  would 
have  been  suspense  of  a  certain  degree  all  through  the  Act.  As 
it  is,  the  thing  is  a  hold-up,  a  laugh  compelling  device.  We 
laugh  because  some  actor  on  the  stage  spreads  the  infection  of 
hilarious  guffawing. 

In  Act  II  little  or  nothing  is  made  of  "Sammy's"  presence 
in  the  house  save  an  interruption  of  a  suffrage  party.  The  suf- 
fragette idea  is  timely  and  would  make  a  good  vaudeville 
sketch.  It  does  not  particularly  belong  in  this  Play.  But  any- 
thing belongs  here  according  to  the  usa^^e  of  the  author.  Again 
he  goes  to  "What  Happened  to  Jones"  for  the  interruption  of 
a  policeman.     The  stunt  in  no  wr.y  advances  any  Plot  but  is 

103 


The  DRAMATIST 

rung  in  to  stir  up  another  laugh.  In  the  "Jones"  Play  the  po- 
liceman performed  a  service  in  the  Plot.  In  this  Play  it  is 
merely  horse-play.  At  the  end  of  Act  II  the  story  has  lost  its 
head  completely  and  all  through  III  the  thing  drifts  hopelessly 
into  an  entirely  new  absurdity  to  the  effect  that  the  wife  pre- 
tends to  have  been  out  joy  riding  with  a  physician  (Whom  we 
have  never  seen)  just  to  get  even  with  the  husband  who  really 
has  indulged  in  a  similar  lark.  This  is  a  beautiful  ideal  of 
Com.muting  life  to  present  to  the  Play  going  public!  The 
suburbanites  must  be  flattered  at  the  high  standard  of  human- 
ity thus  portrayed  of  them ! 

But  it  is  not  our  intention  to  dwell  on  the  ethics  of  the 
Play.  To  turn  this  criticism  to  account  we  must  show  the  stu- 
dent just  where  Mr.  Forbes  lost  his  way  and  how  in  his  com- 
promise with  small  flaws  he  became  oblivious  to  the  very  defi- 
nition of  Drama.  This  demonstration  takes  us  into  the  princi- 
ple of  Logic  as  applied  to  the  art  of  Play  construction.  Noth- 
ing should  be  resorted  to  in  a  Play  just  because  the  author 
needs  the  item.  Everything  is  founded  upon  CAUSE.  Some 
shiftless  writers  cling  to  the  belief  that  this  rigid  law  of  Logic 
is  waived  in  Farcical  comedy.  To  the  real  Dramatist  the  very 
opposite  holds  good.  Incidents  of  real  mirth  are  founded  upon 
the  most  immutable  Cause  for  it  is  the  very  inevitableness  that 
makes  them  funny.  Take  away  the  quarantine  Cause  in 
"Seven  Days"  and  see  how  flat  everything  falls.  In  "The  Com- 
muters" there  is  no  such  cohesive  Cause.  In  a  very  simple  in- 
stance from  this  farce  we  will  illustrate  how  an  author  may 
lose  his  grip  on  this  Law  of  Drama  and  demoralize  his  entire 
product  as  a  result. 

At  the  end  of  Act  II  the  wife  needs  a  market  basket  in 
which  to  gather  provisions  from  the  neighbors  for  a  hurried 
meal.  She  puts  on  her  hat  to  start  this  foraging  expedition 
and  lo  and  behold !  The  basket  is  waiting  for  her  at  the  very 
door!  But  this  seems  a  frivolous  illustration?  Ah!  Dear  stu- 
dent! It  is  the  atom  that  makes  the  mountain.  No  real  Dra- 
matist can  afford  to  slight  the  meagrest  thing  in  his  property 
list.  Where  did  this  basket  come  from?  Why  was  it  there  at 
the  door?  Account  for  it  before  you  make  use  of  it  or  you  are 
simply  inviting  disaster  in  some  mightier  event  by  a  like  ab- 
sence of  Cause.  Suppose  the  servant  girl  had  been  ordered  to 
bring  a  basket.  She  would  obey  the  command  and  appear  with 
basket  in  hand.  The  wife  would  ask  her  to  go  to  the  neighbors 
to  procure  these  edibles  and  she  resigns  on  the  spot.  This  is 
the  order  of  events  in  the  farce  except  that  the  basket  is  not 
ordered  brought  by  the  servant.  The  basket  simply  happens 
to  be  there  and  this  is  the  rule  throughout  the  entire  piece. 

104 


The  DRAMATIST 

Everything  "Happens  to  be  there."    Nothing  belongs  for  all  is 
haphazard  Disunity. 

Observe  exacting  Causes ! 

THE     SPENDTHRIFT. 
Another  Evidence  of  the  Paucity  of  Plays. 

What  better  proof  of  the  paucity  of  Good  Plays  can  be  had 
than  the  fact  that  a  drama  with  two  good  Acts  and  two  miser- 
ably poor  Acts  is  held  over  from  last  season  in  the  desperate 
hope  that  the  public  will  stand  for  it.  A  few  days'  trial,  how- 
ever, tested  the  discernment  of  the  public  and  the  theatre  was 
left  dark  rather  than  force  the  issue.  Mr.  Porter  Emerson 
Browne  evidently  does  not  know  that  a  Play  is  a  logical  entity 
but  believes  that  Drama  is  a  convenient  exponent  of  the  au- 
thor's frivolous  caprice.  In  other  words  he  ventures  to  place 
before  his  audience  two  Acts  of  a  Play  showing  the  utter  aban- 
don of  a  female  spendthrift  and  in  a  third  Act  TELLS  us  (For 
we  do  not  SEE  it)  that  this  spineless  creature  withstood  the 
overtures  of  a  libertine  who  paid  her  $20,000  cash!  Out  of 
mere  caprice  the  author  disarms  this  voluptuary  in  order  that 
his  shallow  heroine  may  contradict  the  entire  premises  of  his 
Play  and  exert  some  show  of  resistance. 

In  the  same  act  where  this  gross  breach  of  Logic  occurs  we 
note  other  startling  transgressions  of  dramatic  Principle — Se- 
quence— Theme.  By  Sequence  we  mean  the  order  in  which 
the  evidence  reaches  the  audience.  To  be  of  service  in  the  in- 
terpretation of  his  Play  Mr.  Browne  should  have  shown  us  the 
real  means  by  which  the  wife  will  acquire  this  $20,000  before 
introducing  the  fact  that  she  has  obtained  the  money.  Instead 
it  is  all  mystery.  The  yarn  that  she  borrowed  it  from  Aunt 
Gretchen  is  preposterous  for  we  know  this  aunt.  She  lays  the 
fat  sum  upon  the  table  and  the  audience  is  allowed  to  guess  at 
the  hidden  enigma.  But  this  is  not  the  worst  of  it.  The 
Theme  of  the  Play  is  well  established  by  this  time  and  this 
Theme  implies  nothing  of  an  adulterous  nature.  To  branch 
off  from  the  true  Theme  of  "The  Spendthrift"  to  a  secondary 
Theme  of  Chastity  is  the  height  of  Disunity.  For  Theme  is 
the  largest  subject  circumference  in  a  Play  and  its  disruption, 
therefore,  the  gravest  violation  possible. 

It  is  very  easy  to  see  how  such  blunders  creep  into  a  manu- 
script. An  author  is  at  work  on  a  Play  concerning  a  spend- 
thrift woman.  He  arrives  at  that  auspicious  moment  in  the 
Play  known  as  the  climax.  His  inspiration  languishes  and  he 
looks  about  for  the  muse  instead  of  striving  further  to  execute 
the  necessary  situation  out  of  his  own  material.  Along  come 
several  successful  Plays:  "The  Thief,"  "Israel"  and  "The 
Lily."    The  author  looks  up  from  his  own  half  made  Plot  and 

105 


The  DRAMATIST 

takes  the  tip  from  these  three  successful  pieces  weaving  into 
his  "Spendthrift"  pattern  the  stray  design  of  a  woman's  down- 
fall. But  to  be  different  from  the  rest  the  woman  is  illogically 
rescued  from  the  certain  doom  that  awaits  such  mental  profli- 
gacy. For  surely  the  creature  who  sells  her  body  and  does  not 
deliver  it  after  the  money  is  paid  is  no  better  than  the  harlot 
who  completes  the  transaction. 

The  Fourth  Act  of  "The  Spendthrift"  like  dozens  of  other 
recent  Plays  is  an  amendment  to  the  original  structure  and  in 
no  sense  a  legitimate  feature  of  it.  A  distended  effort  to  sepa- 
rate principals  further  for  the  obvious  purpose  of  an  insipid 
reconciliation  is  all  that  can  be  said  of  this  Act  by  the  m^ost 
charitable.  The  double-themed  deformity  ended  with  III.  If 
any  reconciliation  is  rational  between  this  man  and  this  v/o- 
man  it  should  happen  here.  Such  a  measure,  however,  would 
tend  to  again  alter  the  Theme  proper,  for  any  man  who  could 
bear  up  under  the  shower  of  impositions  perpetrated  by  this 
bloodless  wife  would  be  abnormally  condolent.  The  Theme 
and  title  of  such  a  play  would  better  be  "The  Propitiator"  than 
"The  Spendthrift." 


CAMEO    KIRBY. 
A  Miserable  Botch  Technically. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  two  mature  men  with  ample 
opportunity  for  observing  modern  specimens  of  the  Drama- 
turgic Art  can  concoct  a  thing  like  "Cameo  Kirby"  under  the 
manifest  impression  that  it  is  a  Play.  It  is  true  the  first  Act 
starts  off  like  Drama.  The  Conditions  of  a  Plot  are  plainly  set 
forth:  the  son  of  a  deceased  planter  will  kill  a  gambler  who 
ruined  his  father.  But  these  Conditions  are  relinquished  very 
suddenly  and  Acts  II  and  III  take  up  other  Conditions  dealing 
with  the  masquerading  gambler's  love  for  the  planter's  daugh- 
ter. The  Problem  in  the  first  instance  was:  "Will  the  son  kill 
the  gambler,"  The  Problem  in  the  second  instance  is:  "Will 
the  girl  find  out  that  her  lover  is  "Cameo  Kirby."  The  son, 
v/ho  should  be  the  opposing  factor  in  the  first  Play  disappears 
from  off  the  earth  till  Act  IV  where  the  authors  attempt  to 
resume  Conditions  #i  and  ring  down  on  a  happen-ever-after. 

Here  we  have  an  excellent  example  of  the  school  boy's  no- 
tion of  Technic.  The  outraged  son  who  was  going  to  kill  the 
gambler  is  now  reconciled  at  the  latter's  unsupported  declara- 
tion that  he  ruined  their  father  to  prevent  another  scoundrel 
from  so  doing,  and  the  proverbial  "deed  to  the  plantation" 
comes  to  the  rescue  showing  that  our  hero-gamester  had  long 
since  reconveyed  the  father's  property  back  to  him,  "his  heirs 
and  assigns." 

ic6 


The  DRAMATIST 

Now  such  a  conclusion  might  be  made  feasible  with  a  slight 
admixture  of  Plot  ingredients,  but  to  splice  on  a  denouement 
so  utterly  irrelevant  and  remote  from  anything  that  has  been 
brewing  in  the  preceding  Acts  of  the  Play  is  the  crudest  of  em- 
piricism. 

The  entire  structure  of  this  piece  is  founded  upon  a  double- 
barrelled  code  of  perverted  honor:  the  supposition  that  it  is  a 
son's  duty  to  kill  the  man  who  gambled  his  drunken  father  out 
of  house  and  home ;  and  that  the  cultured  family  of  the  de- 
ceased and  ruined  father  is  obligated  to  approve  this  illegiti- 
mate transfer  of  plantation,  slaves,  etc.,  without  so  much  as  a 
protest ;  all  out  of  morbid  duty  to  the  deceased  parent.  These 
moral  laws  are  of  the  Stage  Stagy ! 

A  well  built  Play  is  founded  upon  certain  BELIEFS  of  the 
auditors,  which  beliefs  are  so  manipulated  that  they  bring  up 
to  new  and  plausible  conclusions.  These  conclusions  consti- 
tute the  author's  philosophy.  Imagine  the  futility  of  attempt- 
ing this  feat  with  ideas  that  are  not  popular  beliefs  with  the 
audience  and  you  have  a  fair  estimate  of  the  impossible  thing 
undertaken  in  "Cameo  Kirby."  It  is  preposterous  to  expect  a 
Play  out  of  such  irrelevant  premises. 

The  credulity  of  the  crowd  is  far  greater  than  the  credulity 
of  the  individual  but  their  skepticism  can  easily  be  provoked  if 
this  credulousness  is  fostered  at  the  expense  of  structural  ideas 
that  are  not  the  common  belief  of  the  masses.  And  where  is 
the  practical  present  day  audience  who  will  not  smile  deri- 
sively at  the  notion  of  relinquishing  home  and  happiness  for 
the  mere  whim  of  liquidating  a  drunken  father's  gambling 
debts?  Such  a  premise  is  surely  no  Belief  of  the  Auditor. 
"You'll  have  to  show  me !"  would  be  the  universal  reply.  "If 
your  card  player's  deed  is  valid  let  him  eject  us !"  This  would 
be  the  American's  attitude  tov/ard  such  rotten  codes  of  honor 
and  the  fact  that  this  deed  was  executed  on  board  a  steamboat 
in  the  middle  of  the  Mississippi  River  would  not  tend  to  allay 
all  possibilities  of  litigation  before  final  surrender. 

The  authors  dispense  with  all  rational  thought  for  us  by 
setting  this  Plot  conveniently  in  the  past.  But  the  Play  is 
written  for  the  present!  Here's  the  difficulty.  Any  Drama 
done  for  contemporary  audiences  that  tends  to  shut  out  the 
reasoning  faculty  either  of  the  characters  or  the  auditors  is 
doomed  to  failure  and  oblivion.  We  need  only  refer  to  the 
Plays  of  a  decade  back  to  see  that  this  style  of  Play  was  ac- 
cepted. But  a  new  day  is  dawning!  The  author  deals  with  a 
far  different  auditor!    "The  world  do  move!" 

107 


The  DRAMATIST 

"World"  Prize  Play. 

It  may  be  of  interest  to  many  of  our  subscribers  who  tried 
for  the  New  York  "World"  prize  to  know  that  Mrs.  Bellinger 
has  completed  the  manuscript  and  handed  it  over  to  Mr.  Har- 
ris for  production  as  soon  as  same  can  be  arranged.  We  all 
congratulate  the  winning  author.  She  has  been  a  close  stu- 
dent of  play  construction  for  many  years.  An  analysis  of  her 
play  will  appear  in  THE  DRAMATIST  soon  after  its  appear- 
ance on  the  stage. 

THE    DESERTERS. 

Bowery  Melodrama  on  Broadway. 

Mr.  Henry  B.  Harris  did  not  profit  by  the  failure  of  "The 
Commanding  Officer"  last  season.  Military  melodrama  re- 
plete with  preposterous  impossibilities  is  a  thing  of  the  past! 
"The  Deserters"  has  all  of  the  absurdities  of  "The  Command- 
ing Officer"  and  still  some.  Strange  to  say  the  most  artificial 
role  is  allotted  Miss  Helen  Ware,  the  star,  who  is  asked  to 
make  real  the  part  of  a  female  detective  with  a  convenient  phi- 
losophy, all  her  own,  to  the  effect  that  only  criminals  below 
the  distinction  of  murderers  deserve  punishment.  Sure  death 
awaits  the  public  performance  of  any  drama  founded  on  a 
sophistry.  For  Plays  must  be  built  of  accepted  beliefs  or  de- 
sires possessed  by  a  majority  of  the  Playgoing  public !  It  is  to 
be  hoped  "The  Deserters"  will  be  the  last  experiment  along 
this  preposterous  line,  for  the  financial  loss  to  the  management 
is  terrific. 

A  SPECIMEN  CRITICISM  OF  AN  AMATEUR  PLAY  BY 
THE  EDITOR. 

Yours  of  the  22nd,  and  the  play,  both  arrived  safely.  I  note 
what  you  say  about  managers  not  rendering  you  a  criticism. 
This  is  beyond  their  province.  A  true  criticism  might  offend 
and  as  only  one  Play  in  a  thousand  shows  any  real  hope,  you 
can  imagine  the  host  of  enemies  a  manager  would  create  in  a 
lifetime  if  he  told  the  truth !  But  criticism  IS  our  province  and 
making  enemies  part  of  the  work,  if  we  are  to  subjugate  those 
999  mortals  who  presume  to  write  Plays  without  the  slightest 
regard  for  the  Science  of  the  Art. 

"The  Reformers." 

In  the  science  of  Logic  any  argument  to  be  sound  must 
stand  the  test  of  syllogistic  analysis.  It  must  be  susceptible  of 
reduction  to  three  primal  terms  the  first  two  of  which  logically 
lead  to  the  third  which  is  the  conclusion.     For  instance,  we 

108 


The  DRAMATIST 

reach  the  conclusion  that  Socrates  is  mortal  in  the  following 
manner: 

All  men  are  mortal. 

Socrates  is  a  man. 

Therefore,  Socrates  is  mortal. 

For  centuries  this  form  of  reasoning  has  been  the  basis  of 
logic.  It  is  only  of  late  years  that  a  similar  syllogism  has  been 
found  to  hold  good  in  drama.  We  call  this  dramatic  syllogism 
the  Problem.  The  three  terms  are:  Conditions,  Cause  and 
Conclusion,  I  shall  attempt  to  reduce  your  manuscript  to 
Problem  and  then  after  showing  you  the  impossibility  of  such 
an  operation  construct  a  Problem  setting  forth  the  Play  you 
evidently  intended  to  build. 

Problem  No.  i. 
The  Play  You  Have  Attempted. 

Conditions. 

A  hypocritical  parson  renounces  his  son  for  choosing  a 
stage  career. 

Cause. 
A  stranger  finds  the  boy's  mother  is  a  shameless  flirt. 

Conclusion. 

Therefore  (?)  the  father  is  reconciled  to  his  son's  profes- 
sion? 

Problem  No.  2. 
The  Play  You  Intended  to  Build. 

Conditions. 

A  hypocritical  parson  renounces  his  son  for  choosing  a 
stage  career. 

Cause. 

The   son   detects  a   swindle   in   the   father's  ecclesiastical 

methods. 

Conclusion. 
Therefore,  the  father  is  reconciled  to  his  son's  profession. 

109 


The  DRAMATIST 

In  the  second  Problem  you  will  notice  that  the  third  clause 
cr  Conclusion  follov/s,  as  a  logical  reasoning  of  the  other 
two.  In  the  first  Problem,  which  is  the  one  you  employ,  there 
is  absolutely  no  relation  between  the  first  and  second  clauses 
nor  between  the  second  and  third.  There  can  be  no  logical 
outgrowth  of  a  Conclusion  from  such  disconnected  premises. 

You  might  urge  that  I  have  not  chosen  for  the  second  clause 
of  your  Problem  the  CAUSE  that  you  intended.  It  is  true 
you  bring  in  an  uncle,  an  utter  stranger  to  the  Plot,  and  at  the 
last  minute  of  the  Play  attempt  to  fabricate  a  Conclusion  by 
having  this  old  gentleman  announce  that  he  had  heard  of  the 
father's  hypocrisy  in  the  West.  This  is  too  remote.  The 
father's  hypocrisy  must  be  SEEN  in  his  own  conduct  and  not 
TALKED  about.  You  show  this  hypocrisy  in  a  scene  be- 
tween the  father  and  his  partner  in  crime  but  you  do  not  let 
the  right  character  see  it.  You  merely  show  it  to  the  audience ! 
The  son  is  the  logical  agent  of  the  old  man's  undoing  and  you 
must  bring  him  in  upon  this  scene  of  degradation  if  you  wish 
to  preserve  the  very  essence  of  Play  which  is  a  conflict  be- 
tween human  wills.  If  the  son  is  not  in  this  scene  he  is  not  in 
the  Conflict.  As  you  have  it.  the  mother  intercepts  their  de- 
bauch but  she  is  not  made  fully  aware  of  their  depravity  and 
she  could  do  nothing  with  this  evidence  if  she  were.  The  valid 
conflict  is  between  the  father  and  son.    Hold  it  there. 

What  You  Intended. 

You  evidently  started  out  with  the  intention  of  having  the 
son  discover  the  hypocrisy  of  the  father  and  use  this  evidence 
in  such  a  way  as  to  make  the  parent  a  ready  party  not  only  to 
the  son's  career  but  to  his  marriage  with  an  actress.  You 
strayed  from  this  path  because  you  had  no  structural  plan  se- 
curely outlined  in  your  own  m.ind.  Your  Play  was  not  BUILT, 
it  was  WRITTEN  !  Instead  of  devising  in  advance  the  means 
by  which  3/ou  would  bring  this  fraud  of  a  father  to  justice  you 
allowed  your  pen  to  follow  inclination  and  the  chance  of  catch- 
ing the  mother  in  a  compromising  situation  betrayed  you. 
Your  fancy  seized  a  tempting  opportunity  and  you  jotted  down 
the  scene  not  realizing  that  the  mother  was  no  party  to  the 
Conflict.  Her  disgrace  would  in  no  way  advance  your  Plot. 
It  is  the  father  you  must  bring  to  terms.  The  young  man  you 
employed  to  expose  the  mother  was  foreign  to  the  Plot  and  to 
the  cast  of  characters  already  introduced.  He  had  no  place  in 
the  Play. 

There  are  hundreds  of  minor  errors,  like  the  introduction  of 
Phoebe  and  her  painful  death,  which  do  not  serve  to  promote 
Plot  and  therefore  become  features  of  disunity.  But  why  dwell 
on  them  when  a  correct  structure  of  the  bolder  framework  will 

no 


The  DRAMATIST 

eliminate  the  need  of  all?  You  attempted  to  sound  a  note  for 
your  Theme  when  you  made  this  poor  wretch  denounce  the 
clerg}'  on  her  deathbed — but  nothing  counts  in  a  play  that  is 
recited  apart  from  the  perform.ance  of  the  Plot  itself.  What- 
ever attack  you  wish  to  make  upon  a  condition  in  society  must 
be  done  in  the  regular  development  of  your  Play  and  with  the 
legitimate  characters  of  the  Conflict.  All  side  remarks  are 
wasted  and  more,  they  halt  the  direct  progress  of  the  TiDin  Ac- 
tion. 

How  Will  You  Remedy  All  This? 

I  would  advise  you  to  take  Proposition  No.  2  and  devise  a 
Plot  to  execute  such  a  play.  You  have  an  abundance  of  mate- 
rial for  BUILDING  a  very  good  Play,  You  also  have  the 
creative  faculty.  You  have  merely  gone  wrong  in  the  funda- 
mental framework.  Lay  out  your  plans  and  specifications  be- 
fore you  touch  a  word  of  the  dialog.  I  have  shovi^n  you  how 
to  handle  the  true  CAUSE  given  in  the  second  Problem ;  Viz. : 
"The  son  detects  a  swindle  in  his  father's  ecclesiastical  meth- 
ods." You  must  contrive  to  have  him  intercept  the  father  in 
his  debauch.  You  may  reply  that  you  see  no  way  to  accom- 
plish this.  My  dear  fellow:  this  is  the  delight  of  the  true  Dra- 
matist! This  battle  with  obstacles  is  the  very  essence  of  Play 
construction !  Prescribe  a  problem  for  yourself  and  then  solve 
it!  If  you  balk  in  this  initial  step  you  might  as  well  abandon 
the  craft,  for  it  is  a  veritable  maze  of  just  such  puzzling  prob- 
lems.   Some  such  conundrum  is  eternally  challenging  you. 

Reconstruct  by  merely  outlining  the  essentials  of  Plot  r-.nd 
I  will  give  you  further  help  toward  perfecting  your  Play.  It 
should  not  require  more  than  a  page  to  state  fundamental  ele- 
ments constituting  your  drama.  Observe  that  the  second  clause 
of  Proposition  (We  call  it  CAUSE)  is  the  main-spring  of  the 
entire  works.  Every  other  chief  factor  in  Plot  takes  genesis 
from  this  one  Parent  CAUSE  and  your  Play  becomes  a  net- 
work interdependent  Causes  firmly  tied  and  strung  around  it. 

Yours  very  truly, 

THE  DRAMATIST, 

Easton,  Pa. 

This  is  a  specimen  analysis  of  an  amateur  Play.  Yours 
might  be  widely  different  in  offence,  but  unless  you  are  that 
one  in  the  thousand  your  Play  will  contain  similar  violations 
of  technic. 


Ill 


DRAM 


VARIOUS  managers  are 
continually  requesting 
that  we  forward  any 
plays  that  we  deem  suited  to 
their  needs.  Of  course  we  can- 
not volunteer  to  read  every  play 
that  our  subscribers  send  in,  but 
if  a  brief  synopsis  of  the  play 
idea  is  submitted,  the  editor  will 
offer  his  opinions  as  to  the  mar- 
ketability of  the  product. 


The    Dramatist, 

Easton,  Pa. 


Ji2 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER 

.  B.  ANTHONY, 

£.ditor 

Vol.  2 

EASTON, 

PA. 

No. 

2 

QUARTERLY 

1911 

JANUARY 

The  Province  of  Analysis 

THE  AMUSEMENT  MARKET  WOULD  NOT  SEEM 
GLUTTED  WITH  GOOD  PLAYS  WHEN  WE  ARE  CON- 
FRONTED WITH  THE  CONDITION  OF  ONE  MANA- 
GER OFFERING  $5000  FOR  A  NEW  VAUDEVILLE 
ACT  AND  ANOTHER  OFFERING  $2000  FOR  A  PLOT. 
TO  BE  SURE,  THERE  IS  A  SURPLUS  OF  THE  DRAMA 
IN  VOGUE  A  FEW  YEARS  BACK  BUT  THE  STAN- 
DARD HAS  CHANGED. 

INCREASED  COMPETITION  IS  THE  INDIRECT 
CAUSE  OF  THIS  CHANGE  SINCE  IT  GIVES  SPEED 
TO  THE  LAW  OF  THE  SURVIVAL  OF  THE  FITTEST, 
BUT  THE  TRUE  SOURCE  OF  THE  INNOVATION  IS 
THE  INTELLIGENCE  OF  THE  PLAYGOING  PUBLIC. 
PEOPLE  ARE  NOT  SO  CREDULOUS  AS  FOR- 
MERLY. THEY  STAND  FOR  LESS  SOPHISTRY  AND 
MOONSHINE.  THE  SUREST  INDICATION  OF  THIS 
FACT  IS  THE  RESPECT  PAID  BY  COMMERCIALISM 
TO  OUR  COMMON  SENSE  IN  ADVERTISING  SCI- 
ENCE. 

ADVERTISING  SCIENCE?  IS  THIS  A  SLIP  OF  THE 
EDITOR'S  PEN?  NO!  WE  ARE  REDUCING  EVERY- 
THING TO  SCIENCE  NOWADAYS  AND  THE  FEL- 
LOW WHO  USED  TO  DO  THINGS  IN  A  HAPHAZARD 
FASHION  NOW  FOLLOWS  FORMULATED  CODE. 

THIS  ANSWERS  A  VERY  GRAVE  CHARGE 
BROUGHT  AGAINST  THE  CRITICISMS  IN  THE  DRA- 
MATIST. "YOU  KNOCK  EVERY  PLAY  THAT'S  PRO- 
DUCED!" ONE  MAN  WRITES.  WELL,  PERHAPS  WE 
DO.     BUT  HOW  MANY  AUTHORS  HAVE  GIVEN  AS 

113 


The  D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

MUCH  SCIENTIFIC  THOUGHT  TO  THE  PREPARA- 
TION FOR  THEIR  ART  AS  THE  EXPERT  ADVERTIS- 
ING EDITOR?  HOW  MANY  HAVE  GIVEN  AS  MUCH 
TIME  TO  THE  PREPARATION  FOR  DRAMATIC  AU- 
THORSHIP AS  THE  ARCHITECT,  SURGEON,  AND 
LAWYER  GIVE?  AS  DAVID  BELASCO  SAYS,  95%  OF 
THEM  LAUGH  AT  THE  NEED  FOR  STUDY. 

IS  IT  ANY  MARVEL,  THEN,  THAT  THE  SUDDEN 
BIRTH  OF  A  NEW  SCIENCE,  THE  SCIENCE  OF  PLAY 
CONSTRUCTION,  FINDS  INFINITE  FLAWS  IN  THE 
PRODUCTS  OF  THOSE  WHO  HAVE  PRACTICED 
THE  ART  WITH  NO  THOUGHT  TO  SCIENTIFIC 
TRAINING? 

ACRID  CRITICISM,  BASED  UPON  RIGID  ANALY- 
SIS, NEED  NOT  CONDEMN  A  PLAY  FOR  PRESENT 
PRODUCTION  PURPOSES.  THE  COMPETITION  OF 
EXCELLENT  PLAYS  IS  NOT  SO  PLENTIFUL.  IT  IS 
FOR  THE  TRUTH  OF  PRINCIPLE  WE  ARE  CON- 
TENDING AND  NOT  FOR  THE  SUPPRESSION  OF 
EVERY  PLAY  THAT  HAPPENS  TO  VIOLATE  LAW! 

THE  PREDICTION  WE  MAKE  IS  FOR  THE  FU- 
TURE. A  NEW  GENERATION  OF  PLAYWRIGHTS, 
SCHOOLED,  IN  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  THEIR  CRAFT, 
WILL  PUT  PRESENT  PRACTITIONERS  TO  FLIGHT 
AS  DID  THE  DOCTORS  THE  QUACKS  IN  THE  MEDI- 
CINE OF  OLD.  MANAGERS  WILL  SELECT  THEIR 
SPECULATIONS  WITH  THE  AID  OF  A  POSITIVE 
SCIENCE  AND  CRITICS  WILL  BASE  THEIR  OPIN- 
IONS ON  ROCK  BOTTOM  FACTS.  FOR  UNIVERSI- 
TIES WILL  EMBRACE  THIS  BRANCH  AND  DRAMA, 
THE  GREATEST  OF  ARTS  WILL  TAKE  ITS  JUST 
RANK  AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  COLLEGE  CURRICU- 
LEM! 

GET  IN  ON  THE  GROUND  FLOOR!  READ  THE 
DRAMATIST ! 


114 


The DRAMATIST 

Vlays  of  the  Season 

THE     THUNDERBOLT.* 
The    Best    Play    of    the    New    Century. 

Since  our  journal  began,  no  Dramatist  has  so  successfully 
shut  the  gate  of  criticism  against  us  as  Arthur  Wing  Pinero  in 
his  delightful  though  sordid  comedy  "The  Thunderbolt."  This 
Play  produced  at  the  New  Theatre  easily  ranks  Sir  Arthur  the 
Arch  Dramatist  of  the  New  Century.  For  besides  being  a 
technical  gem  it  lacks  that  intellectual  arrogance  which  imme- 
diately disqualifies  many  English  Dramas. 

The  Poet  or  Novelist  may  ascend  to  lofty  altitudes  forsak- 
ing us  poor  sinners  but  such  a  seclusion  is  impossible  to  the 
Dramatist.  His  field  is  right  down  here  among  the  common 
everyday  herd  of  mortals.  His  intellect  must  not  surpass  the 
intellect  of  the  throng  only  as  he  interprets  mighty  thoughts 
thru  the  A-B-C  emotions  of  his  audience.  But  this  is  digres- 
sion. 

It  is  exceedingly  fortunate  for  our  readers  that  such  a  mod- 
ern play  is  in  print  so  that  the  high  standards  advocated  by 
The  DRAMATIST  may  not  remain  mere  castles  in  the  air. 
Procure  this  Play  and  see  the  Principles  APPLIED.  In  treat- 
ing of  it  we  will  refer  to  the  page  number  for  illustrations  and 
to  substantiate  our  claim  that  "The  Thunderbolt"  is  the  great- 
est Play  extant  we  will  proceed  to  dissect  it  on  our  usual 
method  of  first  reducing  the  entire  structure  to  a  three  clause 
Problem. 

Problem. 

Conditions :  A  man  bequeaths  his  entire  estate  to  a  natural 
daughter. 

Cause:    A  legal  relative  destroys  the  will  in  order  to  dis- 
inherit her. 

Conclusion :  The  bequest  does  not  miscarry. 

This  is  a  pretty  brief  condensation  but  it  covers  the  boldest 
outlines  of  Plot.  One  of  the  most  difficult  problems  on  earth 
for  the  amateur  is  to  SEE  his  Play  in  the  nucleus.  A  detail 
here  and  a  detail  there  so  clutters  his  attempt  to  state  Plot 
compactly  that  the  skeleton  becomes  a  well  covered  animal  too 
hidden  in  flesh  and  fibre  to  allow  anatomical  study.  This  state 
of  premature  development  is  fatal  to  fundamental  construction 
and  the  above  Problem  is  amply  elaborate  for  first  soundings. 

*Walter  H.  Baker  &  Co.,  Boston.    Price  50c. 

"5 


T       h       e DRAMATIST 

Problem  being  sound  we  must  now  proceed  to  Conflict.  Is 
there  a  conflict  to  supply  the  psychological  element  of  FIGHT 
which  is  the  real  essence  of  Drama  save  that  we  supplement 
the  animal  instinct  for  battle  with  the  more  modern  weapons 
of  human  wills.  The  human  Conflict  is  well  provided  for  in 
"The  Thunderbolt."  The  struggle  is  thirteen  to  one.  That  is, 
out  of  the  nineteen  characters  employed,  fourteen  are  actually 
in  the  battle  and  nearly  thirteen  of  these  are  pitted  against  the 
one— the  natural  daughter  of  the  deceased.  It  is  a  sordid  study 
of  the  selfish  phase  of  society  affording  the  sprightliest  hu- 
mor in  its  contemplation  upon  the  stage. .  The  author's  analy- 
sis of  character  is  so  intricate  that  his  unfolding  of  so  gloomy  a 
theme  at  times  becomes  positively  ludicrous.  His  entire  hand- 
ling of  the  Conflict  is  new  and  unique  for  the  heroine  is  made 
to  appear  to  take  no  part  in  it.  The  thirteen  other  combatants 
are  finally  hit  by  the  boomerang  of  their  incessant  acts  of  self- 
ishness. 

And  out  of  this  grim,  miserable  story,  what  is  the  lesson 
taught  by  the  humor  of  irony?  There  are  many  of  them.  No 
spectator  can  leave  the  theatre  without  the  subconscious  sug- 
gestion for  nobler,  loftier  living.  What  the  Third  Floor  Back 
endeavors  to  do  with  goody-goody  Talk,  Pinero  has  accom- 
plished by  legitimate  means  of  Drama.  The  behavior  of  this 
illicit  daughter  of  the  deceased  beer  merchant  is  the  most 
pungent  sermon  on  the  true  brotherhood  of  man  we  have  ever 
imbibed— for  we  do  not  LISTEN  to  it— we  drink  it  in  through 
the  emotions.  It  gives  a  bigger  heart,  a  purer  soul!  And  if 
we  were  inclined  to  believe  the  current  German  theory  that 
Christ  was  the  natural  son  of  a  Roman  soldier,  this  character 
of  "Helen"  would  go  a  long  way  toward  conviction.  The  sor- 
did background  is  an  invaluable  contrast.  The  little  grains  of 
good  sparkle  all  the  brighter  in  the  sands  of  selfishness. 

But  it  would  be  a  technological  crime  to  pass  by  the  nega- 
tive elements  of  Play  construction  contained  in  this  great 
Play.  Not  that  they  are  crimes  of  enormity  but  that  we  must 
ever  look  to  the  purity  of  Theme  else  we  forget  the  use  of  the 
Dramatic  microscope. 

First  we  will  examine  into  the  division  of  Acts,  which  seems 
to  be  a  popular  subject  in  this  issue  of  The  DRAMATIST. 
How  does  our  3-act  theory  apply  to  "The  Thunderbolt?"  Act 
I  ends  on  page  64  according  to  the  text.  Is  this  a  proper  end- 
ing? It  would  be  save  for  one  greater  defect — the  audience  is 
not  put  in  possession  of  the  Plot  secret — that  Phyllis  has  de- 
stroyed the  will.  Here  is  the  one  and  only  place  for  this  in- 
side information  to  "come  across"  if  the  full  force  of  interest  is 
to  be  availed.  To  suppress  it  may  stimulate  considerable  Sus- 
pense— but  a  suspense  of  the  undramatic  sort.  To  let  Phyllis 
expose  her  secret  here  would  not  in  any  way  spoil  the  later 

116 


The  DRAMATIST 

scene  where  she  bares  her  tortured  heart  to  her  husband — it 
would  enhance  that  scene  at  least  fifty  percent! 

We  have  commended  this  trait  from  a  positive  standpoint 
in  our  article  on  "Nobody's  Widow,"  this  number,  and  the 
mere  you  think  of  it  the  firmer  must  be  your  conviction  that 
Suspense  depends  upon  the  superior  knowledge  of  the  audi- 
ence against  the  ignorance  of  one  of  the  characters  on  the 
stage.  That  one  is  "Thaddeus,"  her  husband,  in  this  instance. 
If  the  Dramatist  had  cleverly  conveyed  this  criminal  knov/- 
ledge  to  the  audience,  or  better  still — LET  US  SEE — her  steal 
the  will;  the  Suspense  of  the  piece  would  be  many  tim.es  miul- 
tiplied  and  technic  thereby  improved.  Read  pages  114  to  125 
with  the  supposition  that  you  had  this  advance  knowledge  of 
Phyllis'  destruction  of  the  v/ill  but  that  Thaddeus  did  not  pos- 
sess same  and  see  if  there  is  any  diminution  in  the  effect  of  this 
excellent  scene  upon  him.  Of  course  you  must  prevent  READ- 
ING the  scene  as  one  reads  a  story,  you  must  adopt  the  Play- 
reader's  attitude  of  SEEING  the  Play! 

The  second  Act  is  the  logical  climax  of  the  Play  and  with- 
out doubt  is  the  only  other  legitimate  division  of  Plot  for  cur- 
tain purposes..  The  division  between  III  and  IV  is  false  and 
superfluous  simply  because  the  author  has  temporarily  run 
away  with  a  tempting  scene  somewhat  disjoined  from  his  own 
Play.  There  is  Drama  in  the  accumulated  selfishness  that  per- 
mits these  narrow  mortals  to  accuse  "Helen"  of  collusion  in 
defrauding  them  out  of  their  portion,  but  it  smacks  of  material 
for  an  entirely  different  Play,  as  does  the  long  cross  examina- 
tion of  "Thaddeus"  which  could  be  infinitely  closer  to  Plot 
were  his  wife  present  to  reflect  the  purpose  of  prodding  him 
with  these  incriminating  questions. 

Read  pages  151  to  192.  Can  you  see  where  Pinero  goes  off 
on  a  tangent?  Conduct  this  cross  examination  in  the  pres- 
ence of  "Phyllis" — let  the  audience  SEE  her  cave  in  at  the 
awful  onslaught  directed  at  her  husband  and  her  behavior 
gives  the  snap  away !  There  you  are !  Intensified  DRAMA — 
because  VISUAL!  Surely  the  other  method  is  a  swamp  of 
waste  compared  to  the  keener  Dramatic  treatment! 

Aside  from  this  flaw  there  is  little  else  of  importance.  The 
Play  might  begin  at  once  by  skipping  the  first  four  pages  and 
opening  with  page  5.  There  is  a  universal  tendency  among 
writers  new  and  old  to  attempt  to  INTRODUCE  the  Play  be- 
fore they  PLAY  it.  You  can't  do  this  without  lapsing  into 
TALK  and  you  might  as  well  take  the  hint  from  the  motion 
picture  and  let  the  reel  roll !  In  other  words  SHOW  the  thing 
—don't  TELL  IT! 

One  farewell  remark  about  disunity.  It  is  so  slight  we 
ought  to  overlook  it  but  we  can't.  The  love  story  between 
"Helen"  and  a  priest  has  no  more  connection  with  this  Play 

117 


The  DRAMATIST 

than  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire !  We  look  at  it  as 
a  trembling  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  author  to  reconcile  that 
romantic  portion  of  his  audience  bent  on  the  happy  ending, 
but  even  this  narcotic  failed  to  do  the  work  in  his  own  land, 
for  we  understand  the  Play  was  a  fizzle  in  London.  Does  this 
mean  that  America  furnishes  a  more  cultivated  audience  for 
the  best  Play  on  earth?  If  it  does  mean  this,  look  out  for 
your  tools  and  technics! 

ELECTRICITY     AND     GET     RICH     QUICK 
WALLINGFORD. 

Cohan  and  Gillette  Trade  Places 

One  of  the  startling  events  of  the  present  season  is  to  see 
Gillette  and  Cohan  swap  positions  in  the  hall  of  fame.  This 
somersault  is  due  chiefly  to  the  recent  change  of  dramatic  pat- 
tern demanded  by  a  saner  audience  in  the  thing  they  begin  to 
KNOW  as  a  Play.  The  Art  has  crystalized  into  a  Science 
and  the  ordinary  auditor  who  used  to  take  his  pink  medicine 
from  the  physician  at  a  gulp  now  asks  the  where's  and  why- 
fore's— "What  efFect  will  this  dope  have,  Doctor?"  The  hod- 
carrier  nov7  seeks  the  Cause  and  Effect  of  things  as  did  the 
scholar  of  old! 

Four  years  ago  Gillette  was  deemed  the  Dramatist  and 
Cohan  a  mere  parody.  Today  the  tables  are  turned.  Cohan  is 
the  Dramatist  and  Gillette  comes  so  near  the  parody  in  his 
latest  venture  "Electricity"  that  there  is  no  fun  in  it.  Cohan 
has  listened  to  the  call  of  the  Crowd  while  Gillette  has  catered 
to  the  classes.  The  one  appeals  to  the  subconscious,  composite 
soul  of  his  audience — the  other  to  the  conscious  mentality  of 
the  individual.  The  one  BUILDS  a  Play  founded  upon  the 
BELIEFS  of  his  auditor  —  the  other  WRITES  an  essay 
founded  upon  his  individual  view  of  socialism. 

Get  Rich  Quick  Wallingford 

Without  exception  George  M.  Cohan  has  made  more  tech- 
nical progress  in  the  past  two  years  than  any  author  in  Ameri- 
ca. With  his  handicap  of  musical  comedy  standards  he  had 
farther  to  go  than  the  average  beginner.  The  hill  has  been 
harder  to  climb.  In  the  present  instance  he  has  taken  a  book 
idea,  to  be  sure,  but  we  are  not  concerned  with  this  fact  save 
that  it  requires  still  more  genius  for  the  feat.  It  is  harder  to 
transform  well  written  fiction  into  Drama  than  to  build  an  en- 
tirely new  and  original  Play!  And  the  truly  Dramatic  Germ 
in  this  Plot  is  the  Dramatist's  flash  of  genius,  not  the  novelist's 
latent  work. 

ii8 


The  DRAMATIST 

And  here  let  us  explain  this  "flash"  of  the  Dramatist.  We 
refer  to  the  chief  CAUSE  in  the  Problem,  which  we  under- 
stand is  entirely  the  invention  of  Mr.  Cohan : 

"The  Crooks  turn  straight  BECAUSE  of  their  commercial 
triumph  born  of  a  criminal  tendency  to  exploit  little  deals !" 

We  call  this  the  Dramatic  Genn  because  it  supplies  the  fun- 
damental element  in  this  most  peculiar  regeneration  Play.  The 
Dramatist  transforms  premeditated  evil  into  spontaneous  good 
— and  there  you  are!  It  is  this  mysterious  uplift  element  that 
is  pulling  continual  crowds  to  the  Gaiety  Theatre  with  a  cer- 
tainty that  brooks  little  competition.  Other  Dramatists  are  at- 
tempting regeneration  Plays  but  most  of  them  lack  this  vital 
spark  which  put  "The  Fortune  Hunter"  in  the  king  row — that 
subtle  trick  of  Providence  developing  positive  qualities  out  of 
perverse  purpose! 

Several  spurious  biplots  mar  the  construction  of  this  piece 
and  the  fourth  act  is  an  excrescent  growth  tacked  on  to  the 
main  Plot  after  all  essence  has  been  squeezed  out  of  the  mate- 
rial. It  is  obviously  a  temptation  on  the  part  of  the  author  to 
fill  the  measure  to  overflowing  long  after  the  effervescence  of 
his  fun  gas  has  escaped.  The  three  legitimate  Acts  of  the  Play 
round  up  one  of  the  best  examples  of  American  craftsman- 
ship on  the  stage  today.  It  is  staged  with  the  instinct  of  a 
Belasco  and  doubtless  this  propensity  for  picturesque  scenic 
effect  had  led  Mr.  Cohan  into  the  idle  maneuvers  of  character 
parade  which  consume  all  of  Act  IV. 

Electricity. 

Without  exception  "Electricity"  is  the  least  like  a  Play  of 
anything  put  on  the  New  York  stage  for  seasons !  Mr.  Gil- 
lette has  either  a  tremendously  vague  notion  of  what  consti- 
tutes Drama  or  he  has  lost  the  train  of  his  intention  during  the 
repeated  revisions  of  his  piece  prior  to  New  York  production. 
Judging  from  the  long  procession  of  clap-trap  performances 
that  New  York  audiences  stand  for,  there  is  no  more  tolerant 
public  in  the  Universe.  It  is  safe  to  say,  however,  that  every 
auditor  paying  his  price  of  admission  to  this  makeshift  gave 
vent  to  audible  protest  when  the  ordeal  was  over. 

It  is  only  as  a  negative  example  of  construction  that  the 
piece  holds  interest  to  the  student.  With  a  Problem  founded 
on  a  fallacy,  a  Plot  without  a  Conflict,  a  heroine  of  awful 
artificiality  and  a  treatment  replete  with  stone  walls  of  dis- 
unity, there  is  not  paucity  for  profitable  illustration  of  what 
the  aspirant  should  avoid.  There  is  little  left  to  perpetuate 
the  glory  of  the  author  of  "Clarice"  and  "Secret  Service." 

At  the  opening  of  the  Play  we  see  a  father  plotting  with  his 
son  to  marry  off  his  daughter  whom  we  are  TOLD  is  an  advo- 
cate of  Socialism  and  opposed  to  accumulated  resources.     Of 

iig 


The DRAMATIST 

course  we  all  know  such  fathers  and  believe  there  are  such 
girls  in  fairyland,  but  the  Law  of  Cause  and  Effect  that  per- 
meates everything  under  the  sun,  as  well  as  drama,  demands 
that  we  ESTABLISH  such  characters  as  a  reality  before  we 
use  them  on  the  stage.  It  would  require  considerable  treat- 
ment to  substantiate  either  of  these  people,  too  much  perhaps, 
for  any  Dramatic  value  possible  in  the  outcome. 

But  passing  these  minor  absurdities,  could  the  Play  pro- 
ceed? The  suitor  for  this  damsel  of  deranged  whims  disguises 
as  a  day  laboring  electrician  so  that  he  may  appease  her  antipa- 
thy for  wealth.  The  suitor  has  money  to  burn.  Straightway 
the  Plot  changes  color  and  in  Act  II  we  find  ourselves  in  an 
utterly  strange  environment  listening  to  the  wails  of  some- 
body's sweetheart  whose  wedding  day  is  doomed  by  the  non 
appearance  of  the  groom.  Story  fashion,  the  Problem  has 
drifted  from  one  of  marrying  off  the  girl,  don't  you  see,  to  an 
entirely  new  Conflict  of  keeping  the  electrician  drunk  whilst 
the  counterfeit  workman  makes  love  to  Miss  Sociology. 

Step  by  step  the  unconvincing  complication  rises,  each 
ascent  a  little  more  remote  from  Plot!  By  the  time  we  reach 
Act  III  the  plotting  father  has  ceased  to  know  anything  about 
his  own  Plot — the  disposal  of  his  daughter — so  that  the  wrathy 
parent  may  make  fun  with  himself  swearing  at  the  electric 
lights  now  disconnected  by  the  tamperings  of  the  bogus  elec- 
trician. We  have  a  few  more  complications  concerning  the 
electrician's  fiancee  whose  future  spouse  is  still  a  victim  of 
inebriety  and  then  after  sustained  misunderstandings  of  the 
most  obvious  transparency  the  grand  conclusion  of  the  origi- 
nal Problem  is  achieved  instantly!  In  a  fit  of  mock  martyr- 
dom the  hero  is  "going  to  tell  her  good  bye  and  go!"  Just 
here  the  long  arm  of  the  Dramatist  comes  to  the  rescue.  He 
clears  the  stage  of  all  other  characters  and  as  the  two  princi- 
pals pronounce  in  concert  the  mysterious  term:  "Electricity," 
the  curtain  descends  upon  a  question  mark.  Why  did  he  write 
it?  The  audience  have  no  source  of  knowing  and  judging  from 
the  text  the  author  is  not  certain  himself. 

THE  TEST. 
By  the  author  of  Mother 
"The  Test"  clings  to  no  concentrated  story  and  no  sooner 
is  one  branch  of  biplot  started  than  another  is  sprung.  The 
motives  of  the  characters  are  as  artificial  as  the  types  them- 
selves. Conditions  are  as  vague  as  lack  of  information  could 
well  make  them  and  Effects  are  continually  before  Cause.  We 
see  the  author's  naked  effort,  for  instance  to  stir  up  jealousy 
before  the  lovers  are  even  known  to  the  audience  so  that  by  the 
time  the  curtain  descends  on  Act  I  the  chief  occupation  of  the 
spectator  becomes  a  guessing  at  what  the  author  means. 

120 


The  DRAMATIST 

We  have  said  that  Effect  follows  Cause.    We  can  go  a  step 

further  and  say  that  premises  follow  Conclusion,  or  nearly  so, 
in  the  peculiar  fashion  with  which  Mr.  Goodman  gives  us  hazy 
knowledge  of  the  Conditions  of  the  Conflict  for  the  first  time  at 
the  very  climax  of  his  play.  Sprinkled  all  through  the  Play  are 
chapters  of  past  history  that  are  TOLD  instead  of  being 
woven  into  the  present  pattern  as  bits  of  unobtrusive  thread. 
Now  all  this  may  not  interest  those  who  cannot  see  the  per- 
formance of  "The  Test"  but  we  try  to  build  the  requested  criti- 
cism so  that  all  readers  may  profit  by  the  negative  instances  of 
play  principle.  We  are  fast  departing  from  this  class  of  pro- 
duct and  Mr.  Goodman  himself  would  not  think  of  putting  out 
such  stuff  now,  although  "Mother"  smacks  of  similar  disparity 
of  purpose.  As  Channing  Pollock  says :  "Mother  has  every  bit 
of  the  hard  luck  you  expected  her  to  have,  and  then  some. 
Hers  is  a  three  ring  circus  of  a  house.  She  has  three  sets  of 
children,  so  to  speak,  and  each  set  provided  its  own  peculiar 
brand  of  trials  and  tribulations."  Mr.  Goodman  is  making 
rapid  strides,  but  as  you  see  he  has  not  yet  advanced  to  the 
head  of  the  class  where  he  can  build  a  whole  play  out  of  ONE 
THING.    That  is  the  test  of  the  mastercraftsman ! 

MARY     MAGDALENE.* 
Maeterlinck's  Off-Stage  Drama. 

It  is  with  trembling  pen  we  tackle  the  work  of  a  Poet,  For 
Drama  and  Poetry  are  two  separate  arts.  But  since  Mr.  Mae- 
terlinck has  descended  into  the  vulgar  realm  of  Drama,  bereft 
of  all  the  glamour  of  verse,  we  may  take  up  the  probe  with 
more  assurance.  The  present  attempt  at  the  English  standard 
of  Drama  is  as  bad  an  output  as  the  average  foreigner's  change 
of  tongue,  but  we  must  judge  the  piece  by  what  we  know  as 
drama  and  not  by  that  mystic  literary  measure  set  by  the  au- 
thor in  previous  work.  Technique  teaches  us  not  only  that 
Poetry  and  Drama  are  two  separate  Arts  but  that  Dramatic 
Poetry  is  still  a  third — a  mongrel  Art. 

It  is  our  purpose  to  show  that  this  poetic  habit  of  mind  has 
marred  the  Dramatic  conscience  of  the  author  and  that  it  will 
require  almost  as  much  study  on  his  part  to  master  the  Princi- 
ples of  play  construction  as  any  beginner  of  like  intellect.  His 
literary  capacity  has  taken  him  into  descriptive  rather  than 
dramatic  dialog  and  in  this  particular  instance  has  resulted  in 
an  off-stage  Play,  the  Conflict  taking  place  anywhere  but  be- 
fore his  audience.  And  this  results  largely  in  a  Drama  of 
TALK.  And  in  addition  to  this  main  flaw  there  are  minor 
essays  of  disunity  to  Theme  introduced  merely  to  voice  the 

*Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.,  New  York.    Price  $1.25. 

121 


The  DRAMATIST 

author's  philosophy.  A  strong  example  of  this  digression  is 
the  grief  essay  contained  on  pages  36,  37,  38  and  39.  Longinus 
and  his  child  are  plumped  into  the  dialog  with  all  the  indiffer- 
ence of  an  amateur  WRITING  his  first  masterpiece. 

But  beneath  all  this  is  a  far  graver  difficulty — the  dialog  is 
incoherent!  "Why,  I  understand  it,  perfectly,"  you  may  re- 
tort. But  Drama  must  ever  be  measured  by  the  minds  of  the 
multitude.  Even  your  interpretation  is  often  based  upon  con- 
scious thought  and  this  is  a  violation  of  purest  Drama.  But 
the  poor  fellow  who  has  no  acquaintance  with  Metrodorus, 
Kermachus,  Zeno,  Hades  and  Persephone — what  of  him?  Are 
you  in  the  m.ajority  with  a  theatre  audience,  or  is  he.  Of  course 
if  you  contend  that  this  is  a  Drama  for  intelligent  men,  there  is 
no  argument.  But  is  there  such  a  thing?  Isn't  Drama  the  one 
Art  that  is  calculated  to  appeal  to  every  man,  woman  and  child 
of  us  in  the  ABC  language  of  the  soul?  Are  not  words  mere 
auxiliaries  in  this  Art  put  in  for  the  purpose  of  illuminating 
WHAT  WE  SEE? 

Hark  to  the  broadside  that  Appius  lets  out  (Refer  to  page 
28  of  the  English  translation)  and  let  us  know  if  you  think 
this  coherent  in  a  Dramatic  sense.  "Venus  has  left  Cyprus 
and  soars  above  Jerusalem!  Or  rather,  it  is  the  fair  Tech- 
messa,  who  already  brings  back  the  smile  to  the  lips  of  the  son 
of  Telamon!  ....  Admire,  O  Coelius,  the  magnificent 
image  raised  under  this  portico  by  Love  and  Beauty!"  Is  this 
calculated  to  convey  a  thought  to  the  subconscious  mind  of 
the  spectator  or  does  it  halt  the  Play?  For  the  average  au- 
ditor we  would  say  the  latter  is  true.  It  is  the  Call  of  the  Poet 
who  cannot  lose  his  tuneful  opportunity. 

And  still  deeper  lies  a  sterner  deficiency!  Let  us  strip  the 
Problem  to  its  naked  truth  that  we  may  examine  its  anatomy. 

Problem. 

Conditions:  An  officer  seeks  a  harlot  whose  spiritual  love 
is  awakened  by  Christ. 

Cause ;    The  officer  is  commissioned  to  slay  Christ. 

Conclusion:   Will  she  barter  her  body  for  the  Lord's  life? 

This  is  the  gist  of  "Mary  Magdalene"  heralded  as  a  Theme 
of  profound  reverence  in  no  degree  verging  on  sacrilege !  It 
is  the  spiritual  regeneration  of  the  Magdalene !  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  a  large  fraction  of  the  civilized  world  look  upon 
Christ  as  a  sacred  figure  this  playwright  deems  it  fit  to  repre- 
sent His  love  as  a  factor  of  lascivious  traffic.  But  there, 
we  are  posing  as  moral  censors  when  our  horizon  does  not  per- 
mit us  to  see  clearly  above  the  mere  mechanical.  We  simply 
had  to  say  it ! 

122 


The  DRAMATIST 

A  discussion  of  structural  weakness  is  more  in  our  line. 
We  have  said  that  the  Play  contains  no  Conflict.  This  is  not 
literally  but  dramatically  true.  The  spiritual  opponent  of 
Verus,  the  Roman  Officer,  is  not  sufficiently  dramatized.  His 
only  combatant  is  the  off-stage  influence  of  the  Lord's  reported 
presence.  The  story  of  raising  Lazarus  from  the  dead  is  Told 
not  represented  upon  the  stage.  It  is  not  essential  that  we  see 
him  actually  exit  from  the  tomb ;  but  his  earlier  entrance  in 
Act  II  to  replace  the  vapid  twaddle  of  the  others  (Read  Scene 
II,  Act  II)  would  convert  dialogued  narrative  into  dramatized 
speech.  The  author  has  refrained  from  introducing  Christ, 
himself,  and  the  restraint  is  a  wise  one.  But  some  such  reality 
as  Lazarus  must  actively  take  His  place  if  the  story  is  to  con- 
summate actual  Dramatic  Conflict.  Instead  of  thus  visualiz- 
ing the  Spiritual  element,  the  Play  stumbles  about  the  Plot 
vainly  attempting  to  sustain  this  factor  by  idle  chatter  of  the 
Lazarus  incident  and  the  miraculous  cure  of  Lepers,  cripples, 
etc. 

As  for  the  public  approval  of  the  piece,  it  should  certainly 
take,  with  its  double  appeal  to  sacrilege  and  spirituality !  The 
entire  product  is  sufficiently  obscure  to  be  conveniently  in- 
terpreted any  old  way  and  the  religious  enthusiast  will  doubt- 
less make  his  own  version  of  it.  For  like  a  sermon  it  leaves 
room  for  the  auditor's  particular  slant,  whereas  the  real  drama 
molds  conviction  with  immutable  fixity. 

This  is  essentially  true  of  a  well  built  Play  for  the  reason 
that  we  SEE  the  Problem  unfold  before  us  and  believe  in  it, 
provided  the  author's  illusion  is  Logical.  If  we  accept  his 
premises  we  must  concur  in  his  Conclusion,  not  with  respect 
to  all  things  but  the  ONE  specific  syllogism  set  up  for  solu- 
tion. Logical  solution  is  impossible  in  the  case  discussed: 
"That  Mary  will  NOT  barter  her  body  for  the  Lord's  life,"  for 
we  have  not  seen  her  character  pass  through  the  flames  of 
transfiguration  necessary  to  such  high  moral  force.  If  we  rely 
upon  belief  in  divine  impulse  for  this  choice,  particularly  with 
theatrical  audiences,  we  are  again  going  beyond  the  limitation 
of  Law  which  fundamentally  prescribes  that  we  deal  with  be- 
liefs of  the  whole  public. 

"Audiences  with  the  experience  of  observation  or  of  hear- 
say, will  not  accept  conduct  outside  their  own  knowledge." 

David  Belasco. 

THE     GAMBLERS 

The  Authors'  Producing  Company. 

Besides  being  Charles  Klein's  greatest  achievement  struc- 
turally, "The  Gamblers"  is  notable  as  the  initial  effort  of  The 
Author's   Producing   Company,   an   institution   that  promises 

123 


The  DRAMATIST 

much  to  the  American  Dramatist,  known  and  unknown.  Every 
move  toward  closer  fidelity  to  the  author's  conception  as  well 
as  the  subjugation  of  the  ignorant  stagemanager's  innovations, 
is  a  triumph  for  technic !  Too  many  Plays  of  moderate  worth 
are  made  ridiculous  by  the  mechanical  meddling  of  the  hide- 
bound stage  carpenter  in  his  honest  effort  to  excite  what  he 
thinks  Suspense.  May  the  Authors'  Producing  Company  pros- 
per and  bring  many  more  masterpieces  to  market ! 

At  the  start  let  us  call  attention  to  Mr.  Klein's  greatest  tech- 
nical accomplishment.  He  has  put  his  new  Play  in  THREE 
Acts !  We  are  not  vain  enough  to  think  that  this  is  solely  the 
result  of  the  doctrine  handed  down  by  The  DRAMATIST. 
Far  from  it.  This  improved  method  of  dividing  the  Conflict 
into  three  epochs  of  exposition  is  in  keeping  with  the  advance 
this  author  is  making  all  along  the  line.  There  is  more  Unity 
in  this  Play,  more  Sequence,  More  Logic  and  a  higher  value  of 
Scene  Construction  in  every  sense.  Three  Acts,  therefore,  are 
the  natural  result  of  higher  evolution.  A  number  of  new  Plays 
have  them!  If  for  no  other  reason,  they  are  commendable  in 
that  they  conserve  the  element  of  illusion. 

It  is  true  that  the  author  has  wavered  between  two  distinct 
plots  and  that  the  real  story,  the  love  episode,  is  not  as  new  as 
the  high  finance  feature  of  second  plot.  The  two  have  been 
ingeniously  interwoven  but  their  coexistence  in  the  one  Play  is 
detrim.ental  to  Unity  in  its  last  analysis.  We  call  the  love  epi- 
sode the  real  story  for  the  author  chooses  to  climax  his  Play 
with  this,  and  ends  with  it  as  well.  Either  plot  would  make  an 
excellent  Play,  we  merely  prefer  the  financial  fragment  for  the 
reason  that  missuspected  marital  infidelity  is  too  closely  a  copy 
of  plays  like  "The  Thief"  and  "The  Spendthrift."  Rip  that  ele- 
ment out  of  Klein's  new  Play  and  you  still  have  a  great  Prob- 
lem out  of  which  the  same  clever  craftsman  could  construct 
infinitely  more  dramatic  Scenes. 

HUSBAND.* 
Noted  Critic's  Craftsmanship. 
The  critic  is  often  called  more  destructive  than  construc- 
tive. This  charge  is  fully  substantiated  in  the  constructive 
effort  of  John  Corbin  whose  book  "Husband"  has  been  recently 
published.  If  the  identical  work  could  be  brought  to  him  for 
critical  inspection  he  would  doubtless  render  the  same  verdict 
w^e  now  offer :  the  writer  of  this  work  has  the  crudest  notion  of 
how  to  go  about  BUILDING  the  framework  of  Drama.  He 
attempts  to  write  a  Play  without  recourse  to  that  Dramatic 
unit  known  as  a  Scene  and  persists  in  TALKING  the  Plot 
essentials  that  should  HAPPEN  before  the  audience  by  means 
of  REPRESENTATION  on  the  stage. 

*Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston.    Price  $1.50. 
124 


The  DRAMATIST 

We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  there  are  no  Scenes  in  "Hus- 
band" but  we  do  say  that  the  Play  is  not  built  by  means  of 
them.  For  the  far  greater  part  is  a  heterogeneous  collection 
of  aimless  chatter  and  drift.  It  is  hardly  as  bad  as  "Electri- 
city" by  Gillette.  But  this  is  faint  praise.  The  Scenes  at- 
tempted on  pages  114  to  124;  185  to  209  &c.,  have  Drama  in 
them  and  rise  above  the  plane  of  mere  TALK  but  they  fall 
short  of  their  design  for  the  reason  that  oceans  of  gibberish 
engulf  them. 

Page  223  thovi^s  a  soliloquy  cleverly  avoided  and  the  end  of 
Act  II  brings  an  effect  in  the  way  of  a  strong  situation  which 
should  have  been  the  result  of  demonstrated  CAUSES.  The 
premises  have  been  so  fearfully  muddled  in  the  undramatic 
method  of  introduction  that  they  fail  to  stand  above  dozens  of 
other  irrelevant  thoughts  equally  emphasized.  Whatever  Sus- 
pense stirs  the  souls  of  the  audience  at  this  climax,  therefore, 
is  as  momentary  as  though  it  were  treated  apart  from  the 
Play. 

From  pages  9  to  53  there  is  at  least  one  new  subject 
TALKED  to  the  page.  Page  62  begins  a  Scene  which  lapses 
into  reminiscence  of  little  or  no  Plot  value.  Things  happen  on 
page  88  but  lack  of  preparation  leaves  the  author's  hand  ex- 
posed to  public  view.  And  there  is  little  sympathy  possible  for 
types  of  character  that  do  not  exist  within  the  mind  or  imagi- 
nation of  the  crowd — the  masses. 

Act  II  follows  the  same  rhetorical  fashion  and  even  the 
things  Talked  about  happened  off  stage.  After  22  pages  we 
reach  a  Scene  (115  to  124)  but  so  far  as  Plot  progress  is  con- 
cerned we  stand  about  where  we  started.  Several  times  there 
is  an  allusion  to  an  illigitimate  child  which  misleads  the  audi- 
ence into  thinking  some  developments  will  come  of  it.  But 
neither  mother  nor  child  ever  gets  across  the  footlights  save  as 
the  burden  of  confused  ideas.  They  are  not  in  the  Play  no 
matter  what  subtle  fancies  they  fired  the  author's  mind  with. 

Act  III  the  conversational  drama  continues.  The  minor 
characters  recapitulate  to  make  sure  the  audience  has  an  in- 
ventory of  things  transpired.  And  much  has  happened  be- 
tween the  acts,  but  this  does  not  concern  the  spectators  for  it 
is  the  betrothal  of  people  that  do  not  belong  in  the  Plot.  They 
do  utter  the  best  lines  in  the  book,  however,  and  we  are  grate- 
ful for  that.  (Note  two  speeches  top  of  page  171.)  The  de- 
nouement deserts  the  original  Theme  and  endeavors  to  strike 
a  new  one.  Husband  and  wife  both  branch  off  suddenly  on 
the  subject  of  race  suicide.  (Pages  214  and  223).  And  what  is 
the  grand  total?  The  husband  who  may  have  been  the  father 
of  the  illicit  child,  for  all  we  know,  is  reconciled  to  his  queen 
of  a  wife,  the  meantime  mistress  of  a  molly-coddle  nobleman. 
The  Play  is  in  THREE  Acts! 

125 


The  DRAMATIST 

But  lest  the  reader  conclude  that  we  cite  these  flaws  merely 
to  vaunt  our  knowledge  of  technology,  let  us  draw  an  immedi- 
ate moral:  Belasco  says  95  per  cent  of  every  hundred  persons 
who  try  to  write  Plays  do  not  even  recognize  the  necessity  for 
study.  Here  is  the  exceptional  case  of  a  noted  critic,  Ex-play 
expert  for  the  New  Theatre ;  and  even  he  has  not  seen  this  vi- 
tal need  of  mastering  the  cardinal  principles  of  play  construc- 
tion before  attempting  to  BUILD  a  Play.  Take  the  lesson 
home,  dear  reader!  Let  it  teach  you  a  proper  reverence  for 
your  Art !  If  a  man  of  Mr.  Corbin's  cultivation  fails  for  want 
of  fundamental  training,  what  chance  is  there  for  you  with  like 
neglect  and  far  less  apprehension.  You  have  one  consolation 
in  the  state  of  things.  Intellectual  arrogance  is  against  the  au- 
thor. He  must  not  v/rite  above  the  heads  of  those  who  spend 
but  fifty  cents  to  "see  the  show."  Our  dramatists  have  been 
students,  not  scholars.  They  are  the  men  who  with  the  in- 
stinct born  of  brotherly  love  mix  with  the  multitude  and 
KNOW  their  souls ! 

Dramatist  Know  thy  subject! 

Dramatist  Know  mankind ! 

Dramatist  Mix  well  these  two  ingredients ! 

THE    FAMILY. 
Pleases  Boston  But  Not  New  York. 

V/e  print  the  following  personal  letter  from  the  editor  to 
Mr.  Davis  to  demonstrate  how  a  waste  of  unnecessary  dia- 
logue may  impair  a  play  for  Metropolitan  production.  Several 
nights  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter  the  Play  was  withdrawn 
in  New  York,  although  it  was  so  good  technically  it  made  even 
m.anagers  sniff  and  blink. 

October  10,  1910. 
My  dear  Mr.  Davis : 

I  arrived  at  one  definite  conclusion  the  other  night  at  the 
trial  performance  of  your  new  Play.  Although  this  is  your 
first  production  you  have  set  a  higher  standard  of  technique 
than  that  of  any  American  author  save  Eugene  Walter.  If 
every  play  in  New  York  were  required  to  conform  to  your 
structural  standard,  the  Gay  White  Way  would  be  suddenly 
converted  into  Cimmerian  darkness.  Particularly  is  this  true 
of  "The  Family"  in  such  principles  as  THEME,  Plot,  Unity, 
and  Drama. 

Theme  is  the  broadest  principle  in  Drama  and  the  first  step 
toward  a  restriction  of  the  material  to  be  utilized  in  a  Play. 
You  adhere  to  Theme  with  strict  fidelity.  Theme  is  implied  in 
the  title  of  your  Play.  A  fuller  definition  might  be  "The  Fam- 
ily a  Unit."  There  is  no  single  instance  of  a  violation  of  this 
Law  in  your  Play. 

126 


The  DRAMATIST 

Your  Plot  being  strung  upon  this  Theme  is  unique  and  ori- 
ginal. The  story  hinges  upon  a  new  treatment  of  an  old,  old 
idea  of  the  seduced  daughter.  You  employ  the  family  as  an 
organized  entity  to  defend  this  child  against  her  betrayer  and 
the  hollow  convention  of  Society  which  would  turn  her  out 
even  from  her  own  fireside.  And  after  all  this  new  turn  to  an 
old  familiar  tale  is  all  we  need  for  an  original  Play.  It  is  in 
combining  the  common  ideas  that  we  arrive  at  the  uncommon 
and  not  in  combining  uncommon  or  unfamiliar  materials.  This 
is  all  you  will  have  to  do  to  build  another  Plot  as  good  as  "The 
Family." 

The  Unity  of  your  Play  surpasses  anything  we  have  had  in 
New  York  for  several  years— even  the  Plays  of  Fitch  and  Wal- 
ter. You  hammer  away  at  the  single-centred  conception  of 
Them.e  and  Plot  with  almost  ideal  results.  I  can  point  to  no 
other  specimen  that  illustrates  the  application  of  this  Principle 
more  potently.  In  this  particular  as  well  as  in  many  others 
your  work  is  a  splendid  model  for  students  of  the  Drama. 

Suspense  is  the  only  Law  you  cheerfully  violate.  But  even 
in  this  Principle  your  work  so  far  surpasses  the  host  of  indiffer- 
ent current  Plays  that  it  might  seem  malicious  to  point  out 
m.incr  defects  if  your  high  standard  of  craftsmanship  did  not 
invite  scrutiny.  The  chief  transgression  is  in  Act  I,  Scene  I. 
You  say  you  employ  this  first  Scene  to  show  precedent  Condi- 
tions of  the  family  circle.  A  careful  analysis  of  your  Plot  will 
show  you  that  it  is  not  necessary  or  essential  to  show  them. 
Kere  is  a  synopsis  of  your  Play : 

An  erring  girl  feigns  marriage  to  avoid  family  censure. 

Her  deception  is  detected. 

Will  the  family  rescue  her  and  share  her  shame? 

You  will  find  nothing  in  this  Scientific  Problem  that  calls 
for  advance  details,  almost  devoid  of  ordinary  interest  (save 
for  a  pun  or  two)  and  on  the  other  hand  there  is  no  reason 
why  these  same  facts  should  not  "come  across"  as  live  ingredi- 
ents if  utilized  in  legitimate  Scenes  of  the  Play.  Structurally 
speaking  there  are  no  Scenes  in  the  first  set  scene  of  your  Play. 
The  bulk  of  it  is  conversational  drift  without  a  single  Plot  hap- 
pening up  until  the  entrance  of  the  girl's  betrayer.  Here  is 
where  your  Play  should  rightfully  begin  and  with  all  the  ear- 
lier part  eliminated  you  v/ould  still  have  a  fuU  evening's  per- 
formance. It  is  an  abomination,  anyhow,  to  divide  an  Act  into 
set  scenes!  Employ  the  same  constructive  imagination  that 
built  the  balance  of  your  Play,  in  merging  the  valid  conditions 
of  your  Plot  into  an  unbifurcated  first  Act  and  you  will  have  a 
mighty  good  example  of  modem  playwriting! 

127 


The  DRAMATIST 

In  closing  I  will  make  one  more  observation.  Your  great- 
est Scene  is  between  Mother  and  Daughter  at  end  of  II.  The 
mother  finds  no  wedding  ring  and  the  audience  concludes  at 
once  that  she  fully  detects  the  terrible  truth.  It  should  be 
clearly  established  that  she  still  clings  to  the  idea  of  her 
daughter's  innocence  or  you  lose  considerable  effectiveness  at 
the  height  of  this  wonderful  Scene.  This  and  not  the  scene  of 
the  boy  throwing  a  pitcher  at  the  parading  minstrel,  is  the  final 
note  for  the  Second  Act. 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

THE  EDITOR. 

JUSTICE.* 
An  Example  of  Overworked  Theme. 

From  the  title  of  John  Galsworthy's  new  Play  it  might 
easily  be  suspected  that  the  Author  has  a  Theme  to  expound  in 
Dramatic  form.  The  first  act  of  the  Play  supports  this  belief 
setting  forth  the  Conditions  of  the  Plot  in  the  Englishman's 
best  style.  His  dialog  is  a  most  superb  specimen.  The  second 
act  is  a  model  trial  Scene  commendable  for  its  unique  device  of 
breaking  into  the  midst  of  the  proceeding  and  consummating 
all  in  the  way  of  prosecution  that  is  necessary  to  the  Problem. 
But  the  third !  Three  Set  Scenes  are  devoted  to  exposing  pri- 
son atrocities  in  the  abstract  with  as  little  fidelity  to  Plot  pur- 
pose as  could  be  imagined  were  the  author  bent  on  evading  it. 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  say  theme  is  overworked.  A 
dramatist  may  go  mad  over  his  theme  without  advancing 
Problem  purpose  one  iota.  The  clever  dialog  in  III,  therefore, 
is  nothing  more  than  hollow  harangue  so  far  as  the  Play 
started  in  I  and  II  is  concerned.  If  the  theme  is  to  be  utilized 
it  mxust  be  dramatized.  To  spend  two  acts  getting  an  audience 
into  atmosphere  identified  with  theme  does  not  warrant  an 
oration  or  essay  on  the  subject,  pending  a  final  return  to  Play 
at  the  death  moment  of  our  hero. 

The  author's  personal  chat  with  us  on  the  sins  of  omission 
in  the  treatment  of  prisoners  substitutes  the  logical  Conclusion 
of  his  Plot  and  affords  an  arbitrary  ending  without  sufficient 
regard  to  denouement  of  Problem  premises.  The  Play  belongs 
in  Three  acts.  The  criminal  punishment  doctrine  must  be 
woven  into  the  fibre  of  the  Play  if  it  is  to  be  legitimately  used. 
We  advise  all  aspirants  to  read  this  Play.  If  you  do  not  find  it 
in  the  Library,  ask  your  librarian  to  secure  it.  We  find  libra- 
rians accommodating  in  this  respect.  The  Play  is  one  particu- 
larly suited  to  reading.    Closet  Drama ! 

'^■'Scribners,  New  York.    Price  6oc. 

128 


The  DRAMATIST 

BABY       MINE. 

Structurally,  the  Gem  of  the  Season. 

We  dedicate  this  farce  to  our  many  subscribers  who,  with- 
out so  excellent  an  example  of  ONE  STORY  drama  might  go 
on  thru  life  skeptical  of  the  possibility  of  building  a  Play  upon 
a  single  solitary  idea  without  dragging  in  a  few  foreign  plot- 
lets  to  kill  time.  To  kill  time?  "Baby  Mine"  hasn't  a  breath- 
ing spell.  The  farce  is  so  full  of  its  own  theme  that  it  over- 
flows continually.  But  we  cannot  impress  you,  dear  aspirant, 
that  this  is  the  case  with  your  Play.  No !  No !  Yours  is  a  dif- 
ferent problem.  And  instead  of  righteously  spinning  the 
legitimate  material  of  your  Plot  you  go  wool  gathering  in  the 
pastures  of  another  flock.  Set  it  down  in  your  book  of  pre- 
cepts, "To  write  a  Play  is  to  write  about  one  thing  and  to  write 
TWO  Plays  is  to  write  about  another  THING." 

And  here  let  us  note  the  fact  that  the  ONE  THING  writ- 
ten about  in  this  Gem  of  Construction  is  unfolded  in 
THREE  Acts.  It  is  a  strange  but  inevitable  truth  that  the 
fewer  things  you  have  to  present  the  fewer  Acts  you  need  to 
represent  them.  And  when  the  Problem  of  a  Play  resolves 
itself  into  its  minutest  simplicity  the  only  concern  of  the  dra- 
matist in  dividing  the  Conflict  into  curtain  epochs  is  to  provide 
for  lapse  of  time  and  change  of  scene.  Of  course,  the  highest 
pitch  of  Drama  is  suspense  and  the  instinct  of  the  Artist  will 
instruct  him  to  plunge  his  audience  into  this  anxious  experi- 
ence while  the  curtain  holds  us  for  another  round.  Miss  Mar- 
garet Mayo  has  accomplished  this  feat  with  exquisite  discern- 
ment and  projected  unconscious  anticipation  into  the  follow- 
ing act  after  each  ending  with  a  pen  full  of  the  ink  of  Dramatic 
Essence. 

Perhaps  some  of  you  think  farce  isn't  drama?  It  ceases  to 
be  Drama  only  when  it  fails  to  become  a  Play.  This  is  the  case 
with  too  many  of  the  season's  earlier  contributions.  With  the 
accepted  theory  that  a  farce  is  unlicensed  horseplay,  authors 
relax  their  qualms  of  Dramatic  Conscience  and  descend  into 
miserable  absurdity  and  imbecility.  When  a  farce  follows  the 
principles  of  play  construction  as  rigidly  as  "Baby  Mine"  it 
falls  as  legitimately  under  the  classification  of  Drama  as  a  tra- 
gedy of  the  sombrest  hue. 

Problem. 
Conditions:    A  husband  leaves  home. 
Cause :  The  wife  counterfeits  motherhood. 
Conclusion :  The  sham  fatherhood  reunites  them. 

129 


The  DRAMATIST 

This  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  "Baby  Mine"  but  of 
course,  it  gives  no  glimmering  of  the  fun  and  uproar  caused  by 
the  apparently  thin  situation.  Miss  Mayo  leaves  no  stone  of 
preparation  unturned  to  make  the  absurdity  real  and  her  tri- 
umph is  only  a  tribute  to  that  supreme  something  we  call 
ART.  We  have  always  contended  that  Farce  requires  more 
Logic  than  Comedy.  There  is  no  better  demonstration  of  this 
truth  extant  than  the  Play  in  question.  The  more  preposter- 
ous the  hypothesis  the  more  rigid  the  demand  for  continual 
Cause  and  Effect — Cause  and  Effect — to  bolster  it  up ! 

Even  the  fundamental  criticism  that  such  a  Theme  outrages 
motherhood  is  met  by  the  Dramatist's  quick  precaution  to  cre- 
ate so  shallow  a  "mother"  as  to  dissolve  all  scruple  in  this  par- 
ticular. This  same  Art  of  taking  infinite  pains  pervades  the 
entire  piece  and  is  nowhere  more  welcome  than  in  a  letter 
writing  episode  at  the  end  of  Act  I.  The  wife  has  been  inocu- 
lated with  the  suggestion  to  feign  this  sham  of  motherhood. 
She  "takes  her  pen  in  hand  to  say"  *My  dear  Alfred' — but  in- 
stead of  boring  us  with  the  traditional  stage  letter,  the  curtain 
descends  with  her  elfish  little  laugh  insinuating  more  mischief 
than  words  can  convey.  This  is  DRAMA!  And  it  is  in 
THREE  Acts!  It  is  the  shortest  three-act  Play  on  record, 
actually  playing  one  hour  and  ten  minutes. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNY  BROOK  FARM. 
A  Simple  Life  Drama. 

One  of  the  most  gratifying  evidences  of  the  season  is  the 
cordial  welcome  extended  this  little  drama  of  rural  life.  It  ex- 
plores a  new  field  for  the  Dramatist  in  that  it  brings  to  the 
theatre  a  class  of  spectators  not  reached  by  the  average  the- 
atrical spellbinder.  If  you  are  not  convinced  of  this  fact  go  to 
the  Republic  Theatre  and  witness  the  crowds  of  thrifty,  in- 
telligent and  cultured  people  entering  this  play  house.  Try  to 
duplicate  them  anywhere  in  New  York  entertainments  outside 
of  an  ethical  society  lecture.  Note  the  contrast  to  that  typically 
conventional  audience  attending  all  the  other  theatres.  What 
is  the  answer?  An  exquisitely  refreshing  photograph  of  sim- 
ple life  represented  upon  the  stage  with  absolute  naturalness ! 

As  a  Play  it  has  many  flaws — it  is  a  book  Play — but  it 
stands  out  in  such  happy  contrast  to  the  overstock  of  artificial 
representations  of  artificial  life  that  it  easily  ranks  first  among 
the  "mirror  up  to  nature"  products.  And  book  writers  who 
have  an)rthing  like  the  child  story  ability  of  Kate  Douglas 
Wiggin  will  do  well  to  turn  their  novels  into  stage  produc- 
tions. It  is  to  be  hoped,  however,  that  a  better  structural  com- 
pass may  be  employed,  for  Mrs.  Wiggin  loses  the  path  repeat- 
edly and  wanders  from  what  might  be  a  perfect  Play  into  di- 
gressions of  various  degrees.    To  accomplish  this  disunity  the 

130 


The  DRAMATIST 

piece  lives  through  four  different  acts  and  five  set  scenes. 
Much  of  this  shifting  could  be  avoided  by  adherence  to  the  one 
legitimate  Play  story  contained  in  the  material. 

What  is  this  story?  It  is  the  youth  of  an  ingenuous  girl 
who,  consigned  to  live  with  an  irascible  old  aunt  thoroughly 
transforms  the  crabbed  lady's  nature  by  the  sunshine  of  her 
childish  soul.  But  this  does  not  include  the  love  story,  you  will 
say?  And  this  is  not  a  Play,  there  is  no  Conflict.  You  are 
right  on  both  counts.  The  love  episode  is  no  part  of  the  Play 
m-aterial  so  far  as  the  authors  have  fused  it  but  a  Conflict  can 
readily  be  supplied  and  the  love  interest  united  by  simply  pit- 
ting the  girl,  her  lover  and  her  love  against  the  aunt's  ^vill. 
What  would  be  more  natural  than  that  the  child  fall  in  love 
with  this  hero  and  the  aunt  oppose  them?  The  circuit  of  Con- 
flict would  then  be  complete.  The  two  children  against  the 
aunt. 

Of  course  the  two  foreign  stories  of  Abner  Simpson's  theft 
as  well  as  his  illicit  relations  with  a  woman  known  as  his  wife 
are  no  factors  in  the  real  Play  possibility.  If  they  are  to  be 
preserved  for  their  entertaining  qualities  they  must  become  so 
much  a  part  of  Plot  that  structural  progress  is  achieved  by 
them.  This  might  be  hard  to  do — nothing  is  impossible — but 
the  result  might  not  pay  for  the  labor.  As  a  thoroughly  new 
sort  of  regeneration  Play  the  greatest  value  lies  in  the  direct 
Conflict  possible  between  the  characters  above  mentioned.  Un- 
doubtedly Mrs.  Wiggin  wanted  to  weave  in  all  the  pretty  little 
touches  contained  in  her  books,  but  she  can't  embrace  all  of 
them  in  all  of  her  books  and  the  illusion  of  Drama  is  just  as 
surely  disturbed  by  utilizing  one  false  ingredient  as  by  incorpo- 
rating a  thousand.  The  Play  ceases  to  be  a  real  Play  the  mo- 
ment ONE  streak  of  disunity  obtrudes.  When  the  Conditions 
of  a  consistent  Conflict  are  once  projected  across  the  foot- 
lights, the  audience  should  be  put  to  sleep  by  the  absolute  har- 
mony of  every  mental  suggestion  thereafter  offered.  To  waken 
the  spectator  with  a  discordant  note  is  to  destroy  the  very  il- 
lusion attempted!  Oh,  be  humble,  my  brother,  in  your  abject 
homage  to  UNITY  !  For  Unity  implies  a  preservation  of 
the  Dramatic  Illusion. 

NOBODY'S     WIDOW. 

Another  Three-Act   Play. 

Without  Mr.  Belasco's  Arch-craftsmanship  Avery  Hop- 
wood's  new  Play  might  have  been  as  shallow  as  "The  Concert" 
under  like  circumstances.  Both  are  Plays  fortunate  for  falling 
into  the  hands  of  so  expert  an  Artist  of  Stageology.  The  effort 
is  far  superior  to  the  same  author's  "This  Man  and  This 
Woman,"  but  compared  to  "Seven  Days"  it  is  of  flimsier  fiber. 

131 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  greatest  virtue  in  the  whole  structure  is  that  the  author 
imparts  his  secret  to  the  audience  instantly  giving  them  su- 
perior knowledge  to  the  other  characters  upon  the  stage.  This 
is  the  essence  of  Dramatic  CONFLICT  and  tends  to  demon- 
strate that  the  dramatist  has  learned  a  fundamental  of  his 
Science.  Many  writers  of  more  merit  juggle  dangerously  with 
this  primal  LAW  only  to  find  in  the  end  that  by  withholding 
cardinal  elements  of  DRAMA  they  destroy  illusion,  for  the 
auditor  is  compelled  to  THINK  consciously,  whereas  he  should 
be  allowed  to  DREAM  subconsciously. 

Another  commendable  feature  in  this  farce  is  the  absence  of 
Horseplay.  Mr.  Hopwocd  relies  more  upon  genuine  fun,  smart 
repartee  and  rational  behavior  for  his  laugh-producing  for- 
mula. But  of  course,  this  palls  after  a  time,  particularly  when 
we  know  that  a  man  is  flirting  with  his  own  wife  from  whom 
he  is  separated  on  an  hypothesis  so  hollow  that  it  echoes  in  re- 
peated similarity  of  situation. 

Early  in  the  second  Act  the  Play  descends  to  salacious  sug- 
gestion. The  Problem  bends  from  its  original  course,  which 
concerns  the  reunion  of  husband  and  wife,  branching  off  onto 
biplot  of  ready-made  misunderstanding  and  still  another  bi- 
plot  of  an  entirely  separate  love  affair  between  others.  Neither 
of  these  minor  stories  advance  the  action  of  the  real  play  but 
so  bewilder  the  mind  of  the  auditor  that  the  effect  of  Plot  is 
badly  diluted. 

In  the  third  Act  salacious  suggestion  dominates  all  else, 
even  the  legitimate  Conclusion  of  the  Play  which  Plot  would 
define  as  the  reconciliation  of  the  man  and  wife.  Instead  of 
contenting  himself  with  this  solution  which  is  reached  in 
their  remarriage  after  a  CABLED  DIVORCE,  the  author 
needlessly  dwells  upon  details  of  the  marital  relation  which 
make  his  Play  unfit  for  the  younger  generation  and  highly 
distasteful  to  the  adult  not  steeped  in  lascivious  depravity. 
Such  sensualism  would  not  come  within  the  province  of  the 
analyst's  pen  were  it  a  legitimate  outcome  of  the  play  premises, 
but  being  a  spurious  factor  it  invites  censure. 

The  Play  is  divided  into  THREE  ACTS  and  the  divisions 
are  Logical.  Many  critics  contend  that  you  must  divide  the 
Conflict  where  the  material  demands.  That  is  true,  but  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  the  Four  Act  Plays  are  arbitrarily  divided  and 
at  least  one  of  the  Acts  or  one  of  the  divisions  is  false  treat- 
ment. We  are  not  ready  to  advance  the  THREE  ACT  theory 
as  a  LAW  but  the  observation  of  thousands  of  Plays  with  a 
greater  number  of  acts  tends  to  strengthen  the  theory.  And  if 
you,  dear  reader,  think  you  can  show  us  a  Play  legitimately  di- 
vided into  more  than  three  epochs,  apply  for  the  verdict  of 
"The  DRAMATIST." 

132 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE     SQUAW     MAN. 
A  Play  of  Artificial  Foundation. 

The  DRAMATIST  was  not  in  existence  when  many  of  the 
Plays  in  this  list  were  projected  but  we  are  glad  to  respond  to 
the  various  requests  of  our  patrons  provided  a  performance  or 
manuscript  of  the  desired  Play  can  be  had. 

This  Play  was  a  success  in  its  day,  but  the  few  years  inter- 
vening have  brought  radical  changes  of  fashion  dramatically. 
Frontier  drama  founded  on  fictitious  episode  is  not  in  demand 
today  as  was  demonstrated  in  the  abrupt  failure  of  "The  Bar- 
rier" last  season.  And  that  drama  was  an  exceptionally  good 
example  of  the  "wild  and  woolly."  The  taste  of  the  playgoing 
public  is  evolving  swiftly  these  days.  It  is  this  fact  that  makes 
the  public's  pulse  so  hard  to  take. 

What  are  the  features  of  this  Play  made  obsolete  in  so  brief 
a  period?  Characters  depart  from  their  impersonations  and 
communicate  direct  with  the  audience.  Others  indulge  in 
"asides"  and  follow  the  old  school  of  "Exit  speeches"  purely 
for  the  purpose  of  EXPLAINING  what  the  helpless  author 
does  not  know  how  to  send  across  the  footlights  by  dramatic 
means.  Letters  are  read  aloud  and  eaves  droppers  are  the 
rule,  not  the  exception.  When  convenient  for  the  author,  one- 
half  the  stage  doesn't  hear  what  the  other  half  says.  Or  they 
do  hear,  just  as  the  case  may  be.  After  a  lapse  of  two  years, 
brothers  and  sisters  do  not  know  each  other,  even  though  they 
chance  to  meet  five  thousand  miles  from  home.  Is  this  hold- 
ing the  lookin'  glass  up  to  nature?  The  only  mirror  that  will 
reflect  such  technic  without  a  crack  is  the  relic  from  grand- 
ma's toilet  set. 

But  apart  from  these  structural  trivialities  the  Play  has  no 
thread  of  valid  Plot  to  hang  on.  We  are  required  to  believe  in 
the  UNCAUSED  death  of  a  defaulting  brother  (off-stage)  and 
the  suicide  of  a  dear  little  Indian  mother  in  order  that  the  for- 
mer's buxom  widow  may  wed  the  dead  Indian's  husband  who 
is  no  less  than  her  deceased  husband's  brother,  remember,  im- 
morally in  love  with  her  brother-in-law  from  the  start.  Now 
what  kind  of  mirror  would  reflect  such  Nature? 

Besides  this  main  story  there  are  several  biplots  of  murder 
and  monstrosity  which  are  mere  products  of  a  semi-concen- 
trated imagination.  It  would  hardly  be  worth  while,  you  will 
admit,  to  go  into  a  careful  diagnosis  of  such  a  disease,  for  Na- 
ture could  hardly  duplicate  such  an  affliction,  and  the  remedy 
we  might  discover  would  not  be  applicable  to  other  ailments. 
The  highest  service  this  Play  can  perform  in  present-day  study 
is  to  stand  as  an  example  of  negative  qualities  to  be  severely 
avoided.  Its  success  will  retard  the  author's  progress  if  Mr. 
Royle  accepts  the  verdict  as  a  criterion  to  go  by. 

133 


The  DRAMATIST 

LEAH    KLESCHNA. 
A  Play  of  Mixed  Sequence. 

You  ask  us  to  analyse  a  Play  that  has  pretty  well  estab- 
lished itself  in  the  good  will  of  the  playgoing  public.  Without 
denying  the  drawing  qualities  of  the  piece  we  will  point  out 
some  very  salient  negatives  that  might  add  materially  to  its 
current  success  if  transformed  into  positive  structural  ele- 
ments. 

The  first  and  largest  of  these  changes  would  be  to  reverse 
of  acts  III  and  IV,  sequence  being  considerably  off.  This 
suggestion  is  not  offered  as  a  remedy  but  as  a  correction  of 
the  order  of  acts  as  they  stand.  The  second  is  the  elimination 
of  the  entire  fifth  act,  which  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
the  Plot  of  the  Play,  but  is  a  poetic  sequel  of  the  narrative  or- 
der. After  these  operations  are  complete  it  would  be  well  to 
go  further  and  divide  the  Play  into  three  Acts,  doing  away 
with  most  of  Act  IV  concerning  the  father's  solicitude  for  his 
daughter's  absence,  throwing  the  balance  into  III.  The  time 
and  place  for  the  girl  to  renounce  her  father  and  his  crooked 
profession  are  in  Paul  Sylvain's  home  after  he  has  caught  her 
in  the  act  of  stealing.  This  would  enhance  Unity  a  hundred 
percent.  As  it  is  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts  are  more  like  the 
chapters  in  a  novel  than  the  sequenced  acts  of  a  Drama. 

We  will  not  dwell  on  this  Play,  for  some  of  our  readers  may 
be  unable  to  see  or  read  it  and  much  of  the  analysis  would 
thereby  be  lost.  There  is  considerable  disunity  in  the  two  out- 
side suitors  for  Leah's  hand  and  if  either  is  retained  he  should 
be  entered  into  the  initial  Conflict  of  the  Plot.  The  young 
journalist  and  his  sweetheart  introduced  for  the  purpose  of 
letting  us  know  that  the  girl  lives  just  down  stairs,  so  that 
later  reference  to  her  quarters  will  be  explanatory,  is  a  pretty 
big  dose  of  disunity  to  accomplish  so  small  a  point  of  prepara- 
tion. Particularly  is  this  true  when  the  later  reference  to  her 
quarters  involves  a  further  streak  of  disunity;  the  capture  of 
Kleschna.  This  is  not  one  of  the  purposes  of  the  Plot,  and  all 
such  misleading  inferences  tend  to  dilute  the  presentation  of 
main  Problem.  The  audience  is  quick  to  take  cognizance  of 
these  little  points  and  EXPECT  an  outcome.  Their  confi- 
dence is  therefore  betrayed  to  whatever  extent  the  promise  is 
made  and  not  kept  by  the  author. 

Leah  Kleschna  contains  stuff  for  an  excellent  Play.  It  is 
of  the  regeneration  species  and  after  all  is  said  and  done  this 
purpose  of  reconstructing  character  in  a  Play  is  about  the 
loftiest  lesson  a  Plot  can  project. !  And  since  Human  Nature 
likes  to  see  herself  eternally  benefitted  we  have  a  union  of 
moral  and  popular  qualifications  in  the  regeneration  Play.  If 
it  is  properly  constructed  it  is  far  more  effective  than  any 

134 


D       R       A       M       A       T       I 


sermon  could  possibly  be,  for  Dramatic  Conflict  communicates 
direct  with  the  soul  where  oratory  must  pass  thru  the  agency 
of  the  ear,  requiring  conscious  attention  and  interpretation. 


THE     CALL     OF     THE    WILD. 

Frederick  Remington's  Novel  Dramatized. 

There  may  be  several  Plays  of  this  name  but  we  presume 
the  one  you  mean  is  the  book  dramatized  by  Louis  Ivan  Ship- 
man.  The  novel  was  called  "John  Ermine  of  the  Yellow- 
stone." The  book  is  probably  far  better  than  the  Play  al- 
though we  do  not  presume  to  judge  the  merit  of  fiction.  The 
two  arts  are  entirely  separate  and  distinct  although  it  appears 
to  us  that  the  one  is  as  badly  in  need  of  the  crusade  of  science 
as  the  other. 

Unable  to  SEE  the  Play  reposing  in  the  material  of  the 
novel,  Mr.  Shipman  blindly  follows  the  story  text  oblivious  to 
the  necessity  of  pruning  all  that  does  not  apply  to  the  one  Con- 
flict between  John  Ermine  and  the  conventional  stage  villain. 
We  are  perhaps  literally  wrong  in  saying  that  Remington's 
novel  is  DRAMATIZED  for  in  the  closer  meaning  of  the  term 
all  that  is  lacking  is  dramatization.  Proper  dramatizing  would 
do  away  with  the  needless  Prologue  which  precedes  the  four 
long  acts  of  the  piece,  converting  yards  of  Talk  into  valid  Dia- 
log and  vitalizing  many  plot  essentials  that  are  either  related 
to  the  audience  by  means  of  conversation  between  characters 
or  referred  to  as  having  happened  BETWEEN  ACTS ! 

This  RECITATIVE  process  is  carried  out  to  a  finish.  An 
old  man  pipes  a  most  distressing  monologue  of  past  history 
in  the  first  scene  and  then  relates  the  history  of  his  own  life 
in  the  last  act.  Neither  of  these  Te  Deums  are  of  value  to  the 
Play  which  should  be  enacted  HERE  and  NOW.  The  hero 
finds  a  photograph  and  then  falls  in  love  with  the  original. 
We  would  be  much  more  persuaded  of  the  reality  if  we  SAW 
this  fellow  pick  up  the  lady's  likeness  and  the  old  man's  effort 
to  explain  what  a  picture  is  would  bring  forth  all  the  antece- 
dants  required.  The  old  man  would  then  be  speaking  BE- 
CAUSE he  had  to  and  not  because  the  AUTHOR  desired  to 
push  certain  information  across  the  footlights  as  an  apology 
for  more  enlightened  treatment. 

The  Play  is  full  of  these  undramatized  flaws  and  contains 
some  bigger  violations  of  technic.  Any  attempt  to  stage  the 
traditional  Conflict  between  villain  and  hero  "for  the  hand  of 
the  gueirl — 1 !"  is  pre-doomed  to  melodramatic  destiny.  Mod- 
ern audiences  have  tabooed  this  form  of  false  Art  and  only  the 
hard-of-hearing  can  fail  to  interpret  the   signs  of  the  times. 

135 


The  D       RAMATIST 

The  "Call  of  the  Wild"  is  thus  handicapped  and  on  top  of 
this  is  the  conflicting  character  of  the  hero  who  in  one  act  com- 
promises the  character  of  the  heroine  unwittingly  and  in  the 
next  suddenly  exercises  the  finest  discretion  of  sentimental 
deportment.  Charles  Klein  says  that  Playwriting  has  made 
more  advance  in  the  last  decade  than  in  the  eighteen  centuries 
preceding.  We  almost  feel  like  abbreviating  his  term  decade 
and  saying  the  last  three  years.  This  Play  is  a  victim  of  the 
species  outclassed  by  evolution ! 

ENCHAINED. 

Published  in  the  July  igio  Number.* 

The  following  is  a  revision  of  Scene  I,  Act  III  of  Hervieu's 
play  printed  in  our  July  issue.  We  asked  for  suggestions  from 
our  subscribers  and  this  was  submitted  by  Edward  Gruse,  of 
Revillo,  South  Dakota. 

Irene — May  I  assist  you? 

Fergan — You  need  not,  as  I  know  where  every  volume  be- 
longs.   You  might  go  and  prepare  tea. 

Irene — 'Tis  early,  but  I'm  hungry  myself  so  I'll  prepare  our 
lunch  before  the  usual  hour.  Is  there  any  special  dish  you  de- 
sire? 

Fergan — Oh,  no,  anything  you  have  handy  will  do. 

Irene — It  will  take  but  a  few  moments,  then.     (Exit  Irene) 

(Enter  Valantin  with  fishing  rod) 

Val — Are  you  busy? 

Fergan — I  have  accustomed  myself  to  such  task  since  our 
arrival  here  ten  years  ago. 

Val — Is  she  still  unfaithful  and  ill-willed? 

Fergan — More  neglected  than  unfaithful  and  ill-willed  and 
whatever  one  neglects  adds  to  another's  burden. 

(Enter  Rene) 

Rene — Tea  is  ready,  papa. 

Fergan— All  right,  I'U  be  there.    (Exit  Rene) 

Val — How  the  boy  grows ! 

Fergan — Yes,  he  is  not  our  only  cause  for  difference  be- 
tween us.  Irene  does  not  wish  to  send  him  away  from  home 
for  his  education  and  I  have  resolved  to  send  him  away  to  the 
college  of  St.  Christopher,  where  I  mean  to  convey  him  to- 
night. 

Val — So  soon? 

Fergan — Ay!  But  I  will  not  approach  Irene  with  my  de- 
cision until  the  last  moment. 

*See  page  58 

136 


The  DRAMATIST 

Val — Send  him  without  her  consent? 

Fergan — So  is  my  purpose,  he  must  receive  proper  instruc- 
tion.   But  come,  Valanton,  have  tea  with  us. 

Val — No,  thank  you.  I  lunched  before  I  came  and  I've  de- 
layed here  now  too  long. 

Fergan — Well,  I  will  not  detain  you,  then. 

(Exit  Valanton.) 

Besides  showing  time  and  place,  this  first  scene  should 
above  all,  carry  its  purpose,  which  is  to  show  that  Irene  and 
Fergan  renew  their  quarrel  in  the  instance  of  Rene's  leave  for 
college.  Time  is  established  by  the  fact  that  they  have  a  young 
son.  But  the  son  should  enter  early  in  Act  III.  Mr.  Gruse  has 
accomplished  this  requisite  in  excellent  fashion.  He  does  not 
show  Place  and  the  original  only  shows  it  in  a  very  haphazard 
fashion  of  dialog  between  one  principal  and  one  character  in 
no  wise  concerned  with  the  Problem.  Purpose  is  Talked  by 
Mr.  Gruse  same  as  M.  Hervieu.  The  talk  could  not  become 
dialog  until  it  is  the  inevitable  thing — until  they  are  forced  to 
talk  it  and  this  is  not  the  case  in  original  nor  revision.  We 
are  not  analysing  the  above  attempt  at  scene  further  than  the 
achievement  of  purpose.  Irene's  tea  talk  is  contradictory.  We 
would  think  she  and  Fergan  on  the  chummiest  terms.  The 
flat  statement  of  the  renewed  quarrel  over  the  boy  is  all  wrong. 
Visualize  this  contention.  Let  us  SEE  it.  Try  again,  Mr. 
Gruse. 

A  further  study  of  the  Act  leads  us  to  believe  that  Scenes 
I,  II,  III  and  V  are  spurious.  These  do  nothing  but  attempt  a 
forecast  of  what  is  going  to  happen.  If  the  act  opened  with 
Scenes  IV  and  VI  we  would  have  all  that  we,  the  audience  re- 
quire for  interpretation  of  time,  place  and  purpose  and  the  Plot 
would  be  intensified  by  the  fact  that  we  see  it  unfold  BEFORE 
US.  With  all  due  respect  to  M,  Hervieu's  argument,  there  is 
no  value  in  predicting  happenings  by  mere  talk  in  advance. 
Let  the  fight  proceed ! 

Disunity  of  Enchained. 

We  have  spent  so  much  space  in  discussing  this  Scene  I 
that  we  have  little  left  for  Unity.  In  a  word,  the  greatest 
breach  of  Unity  is  the  link  out  of  the  story  that  should  inform 
the  audience  of  Rene's  illicit  parenthood.  The  surprise  is  for 
Fergan,  not  us,  and  Interest  is  diluted  by  our  ignorance.  Mas- 
ter this  first  essence  of  DRAMA ! 

THE     FIRE     COMMISSIONER. 
By  Harrison  Armstrong 
This  sketch  is  appearing  on  the  Keith  circuit  and  gives  con- 
siderable evidence  of  structural  knowledge  and  experience.    It 

137 


The  DRAMATIST 

deals  with  a  far  mere  ambitious  theme  than  the  average  play- 
let. Civic  Graft!  But  theme  is  not  allowed  to  predominate 
as  it  should  and  two  distinct  plots  cleverly  interwoven  in  an 
attempt  to  embrace  more  than  one  main  idea,  operate  to  the 
distraction  of  thought  in  the  audience.  The  mightiest  genius 
under  the  sun  could  not  accomplish  this  feat  without  subordi- 
nating one  plot  by  means  of  making  it  advance  the  action  of 
the  other. 

One  plot  concerns  a  boy's  determination  to  become  a  hero 
in  order  to  win  his  hero-worshipping  sweetheart.  The  author's 
impatience  would  not  allow  him  to  wait  the  natural  order  of 
introducing  the  sweetheart  and  her  heroic  proclivities  in  the 
person  of  the  little  lass  herself — he  must  falsely  substitute  her 
by  monologue  and  telephone  talk  before  we  have  made  her  ac- 
quaintance. In  the  conclusion  of  this  first  plot  the  boy  "makes 
good"  by  a  hair-breadth  rescue  of  his  heroine  from  a  fire  that 
takes  place  OUT  of  the  Flay.  Moral :  Let  the  Play  take  place 
ON  the  stage! 

The  second  plot  deals  with  legitimate  theme;  a  minister 
compelling  a  fire  commissioner  to  resign  from  office  by  means 
of  telephonic  communication  of  a  fire  in  which  his  daughter  is 
being  consumed  as  a  direct  result  of  his  grafting  mismanage- 
ment of  fire-fighting  apparatus. 

The  telephone  is  a  more  visual  means  of  making  the  fire  a 
factor  in  the  plot  but  it  remains  a  makeshift  at  best.  An  at- 
tempt at  descriptive  reproduction  of  the  terrific  conflagration 
for  the  benefit  of  the  audience  endangers  a  descent  to  the 
ridiculous.  Several  snickers  in  the  audience  announce  the  fate 
that  awaits  the  false  conduct  of  characters  or  false  effect  at- 
tempted by  the  playwright's  mechanism. 

The  sketch  is  well  worth  studying.  Harrison  Armstrong 
will  bear  watching  as  one  of  the  best  builders  of  the  better 
grade  of  vaudeville  Acts  that  grip. 

INTERVIEWED. 

Published  in  November  Smart  Set. 

Like  "The  Fire  Commissioner"  this  is  a  sketch  worth  read- 
ing. It  has  been  tried  out  in  Chicago,  we  understand,  but 
found  wanting  in  certain  fundamental  principles.  It  has  a 
Theme  much  like  the  other  sketch  referred  to  but  is  much 
more  concentrated  in  Unity. 

The  chief  violation  is  the  omission  of  Conditional  informa- 
tion that  should  get  into  the  mind  of  the  audience  early  in  the 
Play.  We  refer  to  the  identity  of  the  officer  who  calls  to  ar- 
rest Miss  Hale,  the  supposed  burglar,  and  her  fiance.  They 
are  one  and  the  same  but  the  big  opportunity  to  establish  this 
fact  while  she  is  talking  to  her  editor  on  the  telephone  is  lost. 

138 


The  DRAMATIST 

To  the  novelist's  mind  it  would  seem  a  pity  to  waste  this 
SURPRISE  which  might  be  sprung  to  advantage  on  the  indi- 
vidual reader,  but  to  the  dramatist  such  a  suppression  is  dam- 
aging to  the  interpretation  of  his  Play.  In  fact  it  is  the  first 
essential  of  presentation.  It  is  an  ingredient  in  PLOT  that 
cannot  be  replaced  by  the  empty  suspense  or  surprise  manu- 
factured by  the  absence  of  any  information  as  to  the  police- 
man's relation  to  Miss  Hale.  It  resolves  itself,  then,  into  a 
choice  between  two  suspenses.  Empty  or  full!  For  surely 
the  audience  cannot  nourish  the  hope  that  her  lover  will  save 
the  day  unless  they  KNOW  that  she  has  planned  with  him  to 
respond  to  the  call. 

Besides  this  giant  transgression  there  are  little  deficiencies, 
such  as  the  impossible  telephone  talk  at  the  beginning  which 
might  mar  the  opening  effect.  And  here  the  author  makes  or 
breaks  in  the  brief  time  allotted  to  vaudeville  skits.  The  Busi- 
ness of  breaking  into  the  house,  is  excellent  for  it  creates  SUS- 
PENSE at  once.  On  the  whole  the  Act  is  miles  above  the 
average  and  could  be  made  into  a  perfect  gem  with  little  varia- 
tion. 

Subscribers  are  invited  to  state  their  choice  of  sketches  to 
be  analysed  in  this  department.  Particularly  the  printed  Acts 
are  desirable,  for  the  subscriber  may  then  refer  to  the  score. 


139 


DRAM 


'Pla^Writing 


Are  you  satisfied  with  the  progress  you  are  making  as  a 
playwright?  Are  you  content  to  spend  the  best  years  of  your 
life  in  an  effort  to  master  dramatic  composition?  Are  you 
content  to  continue  in  the  bitter  and  gruelling  school  of  experi- 
ence of  the  "try,  try  again" — hit  or  miss  theory?  Or  are  you 
willing  to  take  a  short  cut  to  the  mastery  of  your  Art? 

The  majority  of  Authors  who  arrive  on  the  Metropolitan 
stage  bring  with  them  the  history  of  fifteen  to  twenty  years' 
hard  struggle  with  the  mysteries  of  the  Craft.  This  has  been 
the  case  with  Fitch,  Thomas,  Pinero,  Shaw  and  Walter.  It  is 
this  long  period  of  helpless  preparation  that  the  Institute  of 
the  Drama  is  designed  to  avert. 

Let  us  tell  you  of  the  invaluable  service  the  Institute  ren- 
ders the  aspiring  Playwright — how  we  help  develop  the  abili- 
ties and  possibilities  of  the  young  Dramatist — how  we  perfect 
a  play  into  scientific  and  saleable  form — and  how  you  may  add 
to  your  fund  of  practical  information,  knowledge  that  you  can 
apply  to  the  very  play  you  are  building — knowledge  that  will 
place  you  years  in  advance  of  your  normal  development  as  a 
Dramatist. 

INSTITUTE  OF  THE  DRAMA, 

Easton,  Pa. 


140 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER  B.  ANTHONY,  Editor 

Vol.  2                              EASTON.  PA. 

No.  3 

QUARTERLY                            1911 

APRIL 

Technical  Tendencies 

There  is  a  prevalent  tendency  to  confuse  the  province  of 
technic  with  prophecy.  A  miserable  botch  of  play  construc- 
tion may  meet  with  popular  approval.  A  technically  good 
Play  may  not  This  is  no  conclusive  argument  against  dra- 
matic science.  The  timely  subject  alone  may  draw  the  crowd. 
A  group  of  actors  might  merely  recite  a  story  and  still  excite 
interest.  A  dozen  different  ingredients  may  effect  popular  ac- 
ceptance while  none  of  these  need  concern  technic.  The  fact 
that  a  man  speaks  coherent  English  without  strict  adherence 
to  grammar  need  not  condemn  the  underlying  science  of  lan- 
guage. In  each  instance  it  is  the  standard  of  the  art  we  strive 
to  exalt  What  the  majority  approves  is  not  the  criterion  of 
science. 

It  is  a  great  pleasure,  nevertheless,  to  observe  that  popular 
demand  for  Drama  coincides  with  the  tendency  toward  tech- 
nically improved  playwriting.  This  is  shown  by  the  prepon- 
derance of  good  modern  structural  specimens  in  the  list  of  rec- 
ord-breaking runs  in  New  York  to-day,  "The  Concert,"  "No- 
body's Widow,"  "Get  Rich  Quick  Wallingford"  and  "The 
Gamblers"  are  all  types  of  the  simplicity  Drama.  "Baby 
Mine,"  the  Play  we  have  already  awarded  the  highest  technical 
place,  takes  the  lead  in  the  race  for  longevity  in  this  country 
and  has  since  met  with  high  favor  in  London !  The  only  pro- 
nounced violation  of  good  technic  that  holds  its  own  with 
these,  is  "Rebecca  of  Sunnybrook  Farm."  This  wonderful 
stage  picture  wins  through  truthful  portrayal  of  comely  and 
hom.ely  humanity. 

We  regret  that  we  are  unable  to  treat  such  pieces  as  "Chan- 
tecler,"  "The  Blue  Bird,"  "The  Piper,"  "Everywoman,"  "The 
Arrow  Maker,"  "The  Faun"  and  "The  Scarecrow."  But  these 
are  essentially  undramatic.  They  partake  of  the  spectacular, 
the  fantastic  or  the  poetic  and  do  not  conform  to  the  science  of 
Play  Construction. 

In  the  July,  igii,  issue,  we  will  publish  and  analyze  a 
sketch  from  the  Swedish  by  Strindberg,  for  the  first  time  done 
into  English. 

141 


The  DRAMATIST 

AS    A    MAN    THINKS. 
A    Play  for    Thinking    Playgoers. 

The  success  of  Augustus  Thomas'  new  Play  would  seem  to 
demonstrate  the  fact  that  there  are  enough  thinking  people  in 
the  great  city  of  New  York  to  furnish  audiences  for  one  intel- 
lectual orator  presenting  his  lecture  in  dialog  form.  This  is 
not  altogether  conclusive,  however.  The  alternative  flattery 
of  Gentile  and  Jew  is  a  salient  box  office  feature.  Undoubt- 
edly the  piece  appeals  to  a  select  class  of  individuals  of  pre- 
dominant mental  temperament  but  like  "The  Melting  Pot"  it 
tempts  the  Hebrew  auditor  who  relishes  the  idea  of  a  public 
vindication  of  his  race.  "As  a  Man  Thinks"  goes  even  further. 
The  Jew  is  appointed  to  exalt  the  religion  of  the  Gentile,  so 
both  sides  win ! 

We  have  ever  contended  that  a  real  Play  is  for  the  com- 
posite-imagination of  an  audience,  not  for  the  speculative  mind 
of  the  individual.  There  is  little  in  this  noteworthy  production 
that  resembles  Drama.  The  first  and  last  Acts  are  hopelessly 
ill.  They  need  some  of  the  surplus  mental  healing  dogma  dis- 
pensed in  the  text.  Mr.  Thomas  continues  to  mistake  fiction 
and  oratory  for  Play  Construction.  It  is  only  in  Scene  build- 
ing that  he  conforms  to  Dramatic  method. 

Problem. 

Conditions :   A  wife  is  compromised  with  an  old  lover. 

Cause:    The   husband   doubts  his   own  parentage   of  her 
child. 

Conclusion :  It  is  proved  that  the  lover  is  innocent. 

This  is  about  as  near  as  Science  can  come  to  a  syllogism  of 
the  Play.  The  romantic  tribulations  of  gentile  boy  and  He- 
brew girl  are  not  embraced  in  it.  The  two  stories  are  entwined 
with  evident  notion  that  they  are  correlated  and  interdepen- 
dent. Under  the  existing  form  of  the  structure  we  admit  that 
the  second  story  stimulates  the  first.  But  treatment  is  wrong ! 
The  conclusion  is  not  legitimately  reached.  It  is  obtained  by 
establishing  the  fact  that  the  lover  was  in  prison  at  the  time 
the  child  was  conceived.  Therefore,  he  is  not  the  father  of  it! 
But  how  can  a  fact  not  in  the  Play  solve  its  Problem?  We 
cannot  emphasize  too  forcefully  that  all  of  the  incidents  vital 
to  Plot  should  transpire  IN  THE  PLAY  and  on  the  stage.  To 
depend  upon  reviving  precedent  history  for  the  promotion  of 
Plot  is  a  flimsy  device  unworthy  the  modem  dramatist. 

Mr.  Thomas  may  never  master  this  fundamental  of  his  Art. 
He  gives  no  evidence  in  his  later  Plays  that  it  is  his  desire  to 
Dramatize  ALL  of  the  action.     He  follows  the  time-honored 

142 


The DRAMATIST 

method  of  TELLING  one  fragment  and  recalling  ancient  his- 
tory for  another.  Like  Thespis,  (500  B.  C.)  he  elects  one  char- 
acter to  voice  the  author's  sentiments.  The  Jewish  physician 
who  performs  this  part  in  the  present  production  is  not  a  prin- 
cipal in  the  cast.  He  has  no  direct  connection  with  the  Play. 
He  performs  his  mental  miracles  much  to  the  embarrassment 
of  the  probability  of  Plot  and  travels  through  four  long  Acts 
unmotived,  actuated  expressly  by  the  commands  of  the  author 
behind  him. 

The  one  surpassing  trait  of  Augustus  Thomas  is  his  Scene 
building  ability.  He  has  mastered  this  important  factor  of 
Drama  to  such  a  degree  that  he  can  write  an  admirable  Scene 
in  perfect  Unity  unto  itself  no  matter  how  literally  it  violates 
that  larger  Unity  of  the  entire  structure.  With  a  clearer  defi- 
nition of  what  constitutes  a  Play  this  author  might  rank  easily 
the  first  in  the  land.  So  long  as  he  employs  the  sermonistic 
method  he  fosters  the  supremacy  of  Mayo,  Klein  and  Walter, 
But  Heaven  help  the  others  if  Thomas  once  turns  loose  on  a 
real  Play.  We  believe  he  could  build  one  if  he  would  come 
down  out  of  the  pulpit ! 

THE    BOSS. 

Mr.  Sheldon's  Descent  to  the  Commercial. 

Despite  the  fact  that  Mr.  Sheldon  has  listened  longingly  to 
the  rustle  of  the  dollar  bill  his  play  contains  one  or  two  Scenes 
of  intrinsic  merit  which  as  isolated  specimens  bid  for  gradual 
Dramatic  growth.  The  Play  falters  hopelessly  about  waiting 
for  the  v/ord  "go"  until  the  "boss"  enters  and  the  first  Act 
commits  breach  of  promise  in  its  exposition  of  Conditions  that 
are  never  to  be  fulfilled. 

The  proposal  of  a  corrupt  financier  for  the  daughter  of  the 
cultured  man  he  has  completely  ruined  is  a  progressive  situa- 
tion to  be  reached  in  the  first  Act  of  a  Play.  This  is  one  of 
the  clever  Scenes,  this  bold  wooing,  but  its  effect  is  shattered 
by  an  abrupt  and  illogical  consummation  of  the  match  and  an 
utter  destruction  of  perspective.  The  author  ducks  the  pro- 
blem plainly  prescribed  by  his  own  Plot,  and  sinks  his  princi- 
pals into  the  matrimonial  sea  and  wanders  off  in  a  theatrical 
airship  after  half  a  dozen  other  plotlets  of  irrelevant  purpose. 

The  first  of  these  spurious  entanglements  is  a  "wife  in  name 
only"  arrangement  made  to  solace  the  supposed  social  aspira- 
tions of  the  "boss"  thereby  averting  her  father's  bankruptcy. 
We  learn  later  that  the  "boss"  detests  all  social  functions  and 
whether  the  father's  financial  condition  is  benefitted  by  the 
transaction  "the  deponent  sayeth  not." 

143 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  second  offshoot  is  the  labor  and  capital  complication 
into  which  the  wife  is  plunged  at  the  author's  election,  sud- 
denly becoming  the  sympathetic  sister  of  all  suffering  human- 
ity. On  this  byroad  of  Plot  the  hero  encounters  an  infuriated 
mob  of  strikers  whom  he  successfully  subdues  to  the  sound  of 
a  pin  drop  by  the  heroic  flashing  of  a  magazine  pistol.  But 
this  is  the  stage  carpenter's  joke,  it  can't  be  Mr.  Sheldon's. 

The  next  fragment  is  the  husband's  arrest  for  the  murder  of 
the  wife's  brother  who  had  continued  to  operate  against  the 
"boss"  despite  the  fact  that  the  sister  had  been  sacrificed  in 
marriage  to  replenish  the  family  purse.  With  all  his  money 
the  magnate  can  secure  no  bail  even  though  he  is  an  abettor  in 
the  crime  at  best. 

The  fourth  conflict  is  an  original  drama  between  church 
and  capital.  The  "boss"  deceives  his  priest  as  to  his  attitude 
toward  the  striking  laborers  and  the  wife  betrays  him.  He 
now  defies  the  father,  who,  in  one  of  the  cleverest  bits  of  Scene 
structure  subjugates  his  parishioner  by  the  power  of  his  posi- 
tion. 

And  there  is  still  another  phase  of  the  sociological  situation. 
This  is  strictly  capital  and  labor.  In  order  to  defeat  the  strik- 
ing workmen  the  "boss"  will  escape  to  Canada  where  he  will 
transfer  the  chief  industry  thereby  impoverishing  his  native 
town  to  tantalize  his  enemies. 

The  sixth  and  last  Plot  caps  the  climax  of  inconsistencies. 
This  tangent  deals  with  the  regeneration  of  the  corrupt  "hus- 
band in  name  only."  The  wife  now  offers  to  swap  her  sex,  a 
commodity  she  had  vowed  never  to  include  in  the  matrimonial 
bargain,  if  he  will  merely  show  clemency  to  the  poor  laborers 
whom  she  so  sociologically  loves!  Wouldn't  this  satisfy  the 
greed  of  a  melodramatic  gormandizer? 

Could  anything  be  more  ludicrous  to  the  analyst  than  this 
perpetual  shift  of  Plot  purpose?  None  of  the  above  items  are 
successfully  joined.  With  proper  correlation  this  might  be 
accomplished,  but  it  would  make  a  complex  Plot.  There  is  a 
growing  demand  for  Plays  with  a  purpose.  Mr.  Sheldon  has 
met  the  market  with  a  supply  of  six-in-one.  The  defect  arises 
in  the  author's  inability  to  define  his  Problem  which  in- 
variably results  in  disunity.  "One  Plot  at  a  time,  &c,"  is  as 
true  of  Drama  as  anything  else. 

But  let  us  say  something  good  of  "The  Boss."  The  name- 
character  of  the  Play  is  drawn  with  unusual  fidelity  at  certain 
moments  of  portrayal.  For  isolated  instances  Mr.  Sheldon  has 
done  few  Scenes  better  than  the  two  commended  in  this  arti- 
cle. The  valid  Problem  of  his  Play  would  make  a  powerful 
Drama.  Its  richest  resources  are  what  "it  might  have  been." 
The  legitimate  Problem  follows. 

144 


The  DRAMATIST 

Problem. 

Ccnditions :    A  corrupt  financier  seeks  the  daughter  whose 

family  he  has  impoverished. 
Cause :   His  love  for  the  girl  regenerates  his  soul. 
Conclusion :    Her  pride  gives  way  to  this  transformation  of 

character. 

THE    HAVOC. 

New  Type  Advocated  by  The  DRAMATIST. 

A  Pla}^  built  about  one  Theme,  divided  into  Three  Acts  and 
played  by  only  four  characters  is  precisely  near  the  high  Dra- 
m.atic  Standard  held  by  this  journal  without  further  technical 
qualifications.  Add  to  this,  a  clever  Plot,  adequate  Sequence, 
marvellous  restraint,  excellent  Scene  structure,  keen  suspense, 
picturesque  Diction  and  spontaneous  Dialog  and  "The  Havoc" 
may  safely  be  classed  with  the  foremost  models  of  Plaj^  Con- 
struction. 

"Baby  Mine"  is  the  only  dangerous  rival  of  this  newest 
masterpiece  and  the  novitiate  will  do  well  to  follow  both  these 
technical  patterns  of  Comedy  and  Farce.  They  are  early  types 
of  the  New  Drama  now  dawning ;  the  Drama  we  have  so  long 
been  heralding.  The  laws  of  Play  Construction  have  been 
obeyed  and  utilized  and  this  legitimate  product  is  the  inevita- 
ble result. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  how  this  new  type  by  H.  S.  Shel- 
don, effects  the  opinion  of  the  professional  writer.  Channing 
Pollock,  who  hitherto  has  scoffed  the  idea  of  technic,  calls 
this  model :  "Amazingly  clever  in  every  respect."  Margaret 
Mayo,  who  has  written  the  only  rival,  merely  says :  "Tremend- 
ous !"  Edgar  Selwyn :  "A  Bully  Good  Play."  Charles  Klein : 
"The  best  constructed  Play  I  have  ever  seen."  Charles  Rann 
Kennedy.  "A  remarkable  Play  of  absorbing  interest."  George 
Broadhurst :  "A  most  extraordinary  and  brilliant  Play." 

This  undissenting  acclaim  is  no  mean  tribute  to  Dramatic 
Technic !  It  is  none  the  less  potent  for  being  unconscious. 
None  of  these  Dramatists  knew  they  were  exalting  Dramatur- 
gic Science.  It  is  not  the  technic  but  its  effects  that  they 
extol !  The  Playw^right  doesn't  even  know  he  is  conforming 
to  the  Laws  when  he  builds  a  Play.  But  he  never  builds  a 
good  one  without  so  doing.  And  only  a  Play  with  Scientific 
requisites  could  enlist  this  chorus  of  professional  approval ! 

PROBLEM. 
Conditions :    A  paramour  steals  the  wife  of  an  honest  man. 
Cause :   The  man  accedes  the  outrage. 
Conclusion:   His  sanction  proves  the  surer  cure. 

145 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  gravest  violation  of  Principle  in  this  Play  is  the  dis- 
unity involved  in  the  denouement  or  conclusion.  The  hus- 
band's compliance  does  work  a  cure  but  through  a  means  in 
slight  disparity  to  Conditions  and  Cause.  Instead  of  allowing 
the  premises  to  generate  the  Conclusion  by  specifically  dis- 
proving the  paramour's  perverted  philosophy  the  author 
trumps  up  a  foreign  device — showing  the  latter's  defalcation 
in  a  railroad  office.  This  Conclusion  has  no  bearing  on  the 
premises. 

Apart  from  this  there  is  little  structural  criticism  possible. 
Fault  might  be  found  with  the  author's  Logic  in  allowing  a 
man  to  swap  his  wife  for  the  mere  purpose  of  demonstrating 
the  other  fellow's  selfishness,  but  this  treatment  is  largely  a 
matter  of  taste  where  no  criterion  holds.  The  situation  could 
be  strengthened  by  giving  added  motive  to  the  husband's  con- 
duct. 

It  is  a  lapse  cf  Art  to  split  an  Act  in  tv/o  parts,  all  vain  ex- 
cuses to  the  contrary!  Instead  of  leaping  the  problem  by  a 
drop  of  the  curtain  the  author  should  work  it  out !  In  the  first 
Act  the  splice  is  made  to  provide  time  for  the  husband  to  pro- 
ceed to  the  railroad  station  and  return,  unexpectedly,  catching 
the  imposter  in  his  lady's  chamber.  The  author  has  taken  for 
granted  there  is  no  alternative.  It  is  not  vitally  essential  to 
Plot  that  the  man  be  gone  several  hours  before  he  finds  he  has 
taken  the  wrong  book.  It  is  not  necessary  that  the  poor  little 
wife  be  actually  caught  in  bed  with  her  lover.  This  is  a  need- 
less lapse  into  lust.  It  is  not  required  by  the  Plot  and  the  wife 
is  robbed  of  sympathy  by  this  treatment.  The  competent 
craftsman  who  built  this  Play  could  bridge  this  gap  in  an 
hour's  study. 

In  Act  II  the  same  criticism  holds.  The  curtain  is  obvi- 
ously dropped  to  provide  opportunity  for  the  remarried  wife  to 
be  com.prcmised  in  the  second  husband's  eyes  by  the  equivocal 
presence  of  her  former  spouse.  It  doesn't  require  any  great 
length  of  time  to  accomplish  this  feat.  Exactly  the  same  situa- 
tion could  be  attained  without  dispatching  both  men  to  their 
clubs  v/hile  the  curtain  is  down.  Again  we  say  the  same  ge- 
nius that  created  far  better  emergencies  in  the  Play  could 
readily  invent  some  slight  turn  by  which  this  breach  in  the 
Dramatic  illusion  might  be  averted.  It  is  his  indifference  to 
these  defects  that  we  deplore.  Fight  out  your  Plot,  Mr.  Shel- 
don. 

But  this  is  base  ingratitude  to  the  Dramatist  who  has  fur- 
nished us  a  splendid  play  of  modern  Construction.  It  is  equi- 
valent to  defiling  our  own  god — Technikos !  Hats  off  to  "The 
Havoc,"  a  play  many  miles  in  advance  of  the  procession ! 

145 


The DRAMATIST 

THE    TWELVE    POUND    LOOK. 
Barrie's  Ascent  to  the  Psychological. 

The  new  one-act  sketch  by  J.  M.  Barrie  does  not  bear  a 
striking  resemblance  to  Dramatic  Composition.  There  must 
be  some  sort  of  combat  in  a  real  Play,  between  the  opposed 
wills  of  the  principles  and  this  combat  must  be  a  thing  of  the 
present  moment.  The  playlet  in  question  departs  from  this 
im.mutable  law  in  that  it  is  wholly  an  account  of  a  conflict  of 
past  performance.  In  this  respect  it  is  much  like  Fritzchen,  by 
Sudermann,  analyzed  in  this  same  issue. 

Another  salient  flaw  is  that  the  characters  are  not  motived. 
The  author  places  them  on  the  stage  for  reasons  best  known  to 
himself  and  propels  them  of  his  own  volition  instead  of  theirs. 
They  recite  his  far-fetched  moral  in  an  obedient  fashion  telling 
us  that  a  husband's  surplus  of  the  success  microbe  will  drive 
his  first  wife  to  the  bitter  extreme  of  buying  a  sixty  dollar 
typewriter  and  cause  his  second  spouse  to  envy  her  predeces- 
sorsor's  contented  twelve  pound  countenance. 

Of  course  it  would  be  an  irksome  task  for  a  man  of  Barrie's 
wit  to  compose  lines  in  the  English  Language  that  were  not 
gently  tuned  to  the  key  of  comedy.  To  hint  that  the  "sixty 
dollar  look"  is  not  a  legitimate  Dramatic  grimace  need  not 
signify  that  the  little  piece  fails  to  entertain  such  members  of 
the  audience  as  direct  their  intellects  to  the  construction  of 
that  feature  of  the  Dramatic  illusion  usually  assigned  to  the 
author.  An  anecdote  may  please  if  it  is  merely  told  by  a  sin- 
gle person.  Put  the  same  yarn  into  the  mouths  of  a  dozen 
puppets  to  represent  the  various  characters  concerned,  how- 
ever, and  you  do  not  necessarily  construct  a  Drama  by  the  mere 
act  of  dialoging.  Alfred  Sutro's  "A  Maker  of  Men"  reported 
in  our  July,  igio,  number,  is  the  only  one-act  piece  we  can 
think  of  that  compares  with  Mr.  Barrie's  latest  effort  for  abso- 
lute absence  of  Dramatic  quality. 

U.    S.    MINISTER    BEDLOE. 
A  Frivolous  Tailor-Made  Farce. 

If  George  Ade's  past  dramatic  v/ork  has  been  conspicuous 
for  one  thing  more  than  another  it  is  the  absence  of  tangible 
Plot.  In  "U.  S.  Minister  Bedloe"  he  is  seized  with  the  sudden 
desire  to  incorporate  this  disregarded  ingredient.  The  result 
is  a  hodgepodge  of  conventional  theatric  contortions  serving 
mainly  to  obscure  the  author's  native  wit. 

"The  College  Widow,"  by  the  same  author,  was  a  pro- 
nounced hit  because,  like  "Rebecca  of  Sunny  Brook  Farm,"  it 
conveys  to  the  stage  curtain  glimpses  of  atmosphere  v/ith 
telling  reality.    At  the  Art  of  capturing  atmosphere  Mr.  Ade  is 

147 


The  DRAMATIST 

an  adept  but  no  degree  of  efficiency  in  this  particular  equips 
a  man  for  the  subtle  secrets  of  Play  Construction.  At  best  this 
faculty  is  an  adjunct  to  Playwriting. 

Truthful  reproduction  of  interesting  pictures  from  life  is 
one  thing  and  the  building  of  that  concrete  something  known 
as  Drama,  is  quite  another.  A  specific  train  in  the  latter  craft 
is  the  only  means  of  efficiency.  Mr.  Ade  will  have  to  go 
through  the  same  course  of  sprouts  if  he  is  ever  to  become  a 
Dramatist- 

The  attempt  at  Plot  in  this  piece  has  not  only  marred  the 
native  wit  of  the  author,  it  has  seduced  his  sense  of  comedy 
and  character.  In  several  instances  he  descends  to  vapid  puns, 
cheap  caricature  and  horseplay.  There  is  no  explanation  for 
this  extravagance,  save  the  misconception  that  this  is  play- 
writing.  It  would  be  impossible  to  reduce  this  thing  to  Prob- 
lem..   It  is  merely  a  series  of  disordered  circumstances. 

THE    DEEP    PURPLE. 

Dim.e  Novel  Melodrama. 

There  is  but  one  infallible  method  of  testing  the  constitu- 
tion of  a  Play :  strike  its  Proposition  and  see  how  nearly  same 
has  been  adhered  to.  When  a  piece  is  improperly  constructed 
there  is  no  Problem  and  the  next  test  is  to  find  the  nearest 
approach  to  syllogism  contained  in  the  undeveloped  material. 
What  the  Armstrong-Mizner  Play  intended  to  be  is  as  follows : 

Problem. 

Conditions:     A  girl  is  used  as  a  decoy  to  trap  a  man  of 
wealth. 

Cause:   The  man  detects  his  danger  through  her  innocent 
incompetence. 

Conclusion:     They  operate  in  unison  to  escape    a  common 
plight. 

Let  us  now  trace  the  meandering  of  the  authors  from  the 
course  of  their  evident  intentions.  The  Cause,  or  middle 
clause  of  Problem,  is  the  core  of  any  Play.  This  transcen- 
dent feature  of  Construction  is  devitalized  just  at  the  moment 
Plot  is  ripening.  Instead  of  building  the  tremendous  Scene 
called  for  in  the  very  nature  of  their  materials,  at  the  moment 
this  m.an  discovers  his  danger  through  the  innocence  of  the 
girl  who  has  lured  him  into  this  den,  (thinking  she  is  honestly 
aiding  the  crook  who  masquerades  as  her  lover)  the  authors 
undermine  the  magnificent  situation  by  having  the  hero  fore- 
warned of  his  danger.  And  this  news  is  spread  by  a  character 
in  no  wise  essential  to  the  Plot. 

148 


The  DRAMATIST 

Here  is  an  excellent  instance  of  demolished  interest!  To 
inform  the  man  of  his  impending  danger  robs  the  Scene  of  its 
force.  The  audience  should  know  his  imminent  peril,  but  ab- 
solute ignorance  on  the  part  of  the  victim  is  the  very  keynote 
of  SUSPENSE!  Consider  the  thrill  of  heart  throbs  generated 
by  this  man's  entrance  into  the  trap  we  set  for  him!  "What 
will  he  do?  How  will  he  protect  his  life — his  money?  What 
about  the  innocent  girl,  when  she  finds  it  her  lover's  purpose 
to  rob  and  plunder?  Will  they  turn  on  her?  V/ill  he  come  to 
her  rescue?"  &c.,  &c.  These  are  the  test  questions  of  Dra- 
matic Action !  For  Action  transpires  in  the  audience  not  on 
the  stage ! 

How  utterly  vapid  is  the  traditional  trick  of  getting  the 
drop  on  the  culprit  compared  with  the  magnificent  opportunity 
afforded  at  this  juncture  for  real  Dramatic  Composition?  The 
authors  take  the  girl  back  to  the  hero's  hotel  for  mamma  to 
care  for.  The  real  Plot  of  fleecing  the  hero  subsides  and  sev- 
eral spurious  remnants  sprout  up.  The  hero  has  a  convenient 
friend  in  the  police  department  who  believes  the  girl  a  crook 
too.  The  Conclusion  of  this  new  Problem  would  be:  Can 
the  hero  prove  her  innocence?  A  new  Plot  is  necessary  to  put 
this  Problem  to  the  test  and  money  is  placed  in  a  convenient 
spot  to  tempt  the  girl.  Of  course  the  girl  is  proof  against  this 
pitfall  but  the  authors  think  it  necessary  to  carry  on  a  little 
contest  of  their  own  between  the  hero  and  the  police  ofificial. 

Another  Plot  brings  us  to  the  end.  The  girl  is  told  by  tele- 
phone that  she  will  meet  her  beloved  father  if  she  will  return 
to  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  crook's.  Of  course  she  is  fool  enough 
to  go  at  once,  despite  the  provision  of  the  message  that 
she  must  come  "alone!"  Naturally  the  crook  awaits  her,  but 
her  doom  is  not  quite  sealed.  A  rescue  falls  from  the  clouds  in 
the  form  of  an  ex-convict  with  a  well  grown  grudge  against 
the  villain!  Our  new  found  friend  has  a  perfectly  legitimate 
existence  in  a  secondary  Plot  that  we  forgot  to  mention.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say  that  the  secondary  supplement  belongs  to  an  en- 
tirely separate  performance  and  that  still  another  complication 
caused  by  the  obvious  swapping  of  revolvers  has  no  place  in 
any  of  the  numerous  offshots  we  have  named. 

That  such  a  vapid  composition  of  puerile  sensation  will  at- 
tract the  indiscriminate  crowd,  there  can  be  little  doubt.  To 
classify  it  as  Drama  would  be  equivalent  to  letting  in  the 
whole  realm  of  yellow-back  fiction  on  the  same  footing.  "The 
Deep  Purple"  is  much  worse  structure  than  "Alias  Jimmy 
Valentine"  with  no  big  Scene  to  redeem  it. 

149 


The  DRAMATIST 

NOBODY'S    DAUGHTER. 

A  Splendid  Play  Possibility. 

It  is  so  seldom  that  we  find  plays  of  simple  centred  compo- 
sition that  it  is  indeed  painful  to  see  one  of  these  go  to  pieces 
for  want  of  dramatic  treatment.  "Nobody's  Daughter"  sticks 
to  one  thing  and  would  get  there  if  the  two  largest  moments 
of  Suspense  were  not  ignored. 

Two  young  people  become  the  illicit  parents  of  a  child  and 
afterward  marry  other  mates.  The  man  who  later  marries  the 
woman  endeavors  to  solve  the  mysterious  parenthood  of  this 
child.  In  a  beautifully  built  scene  he  tears  down  the  fabrica- 
tion that  is  supposed  to  explain  her  birth.  He  detects  the 
wife's  overeagemess  to  answer  questions  asked  of  others  and 
justly  suspects  her  of  some  guilt.  But  here  the  valid  Scene 
development  halts,  and  with  no  shadow  of  suspicion  cast  upon 
the  real  father  of  the  child  the  husband  flies  off  into  a  scene- 
eating  fit  accusing  him  of  the  deed — a  paradise  for  the  actor. 

The  next  best  bit  of  technical  abuse  is  the  preposterous 
manner  of  breaking  the  news  to  the  woman  now  the  wife  of 
the  illicit  father.  It  doesn't  break,  "she  knew  it  all  the  time." 
The  fact  is  plumped  in  without  asking  leave  of  the  audience. 
The  woman  divines  it.    We  know  not  how. 

But  we  still  maintain  that  the  Play  scheme  is  an  ambitious 
one.  The  Problem  is  exquisitely  defined  and  the  Theme 
takes  its  genesis  in  the  third  law  of  Nature.  The  love  of 
mother  and  child.  This  law  is  a  powerful  emotional  agent  and 
probably  dramatized  makes  for  Drama  in  the  first  degree.  Mr. 
George  Paston  has  missed  the  mark  in  "Nobody's  Daughter," 
but  his  effort  is  honest  and  sincere. 

THE    CO  NCERT. 

A  Drama  With  Farcical  Finish. 

"The  Concert"  is  a  one-story  composition  that  threatens  to 
become  Drama  at  one  moment  and  falls  into  utter  farce  at  an- 
other. From  the  underlying  Problem  it  will  be  seen  that 
the  Theme  lends  itself  to  a  fine  Play  formula. 

PROBLEM. 
Conditions:   A  doctor  intercepts  his  wife's  seduction. 
Cause :   He  will  not  impede  her  happiness. 
Conclusion :  His  cool  head  causes  their  reconciliation. 

The  Problem  does  not  embrace  the  musician's  wife  nor 
the  Doctor's  pretended  love  for  her.  These  are  details  of  Plot 
development.    The  chief  factor  in  the  Play  is  the  broad-minded 

150 


The  DRAMATIST 

Doctor.  For  farcical  reasons  he  has  been  subdued  and  the 
dialect  character  brought  to  the  front. 

This  arbitrary  sacrifice  of  the  Conflict  character  doubtless 
accounts  for  the  premature  explosion  of  Plot,  Act  II  carries 
the  Conflict  far  beyond  culminating  moment  and  the  Play  is 
virtually  over  before  the  second  curtain  descends.  The  au- 
thor, the  audience  and  the  characters  have  all  reached  a  com- 
mon point  of  view  which  necessarily  puts  an  end  to  Dramatic 
Conflict.  There  is  no  further  doubt  as  to  the  issue  and  any  ef- 
fort to  prolong  cross-purposes  is  an  obvious  play  for  "laughs," 

That  the  effort  is  rewarded,  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt. 
The  box  office  yields  the  ultimate  evidence.  This  fact  would 
seem  to  outweigh  all  other  argument  but  it  can  not  down  the 
definition  of  Drama.  The  same  comic  element  prevails  light 
opera,  vaudeville  and  musical  farce.  It  is  the  Play  alone  that 
employs  this  fun  to  the  concentrated  purpose  of  promoting 
Plot.  With  very  slight  modification  "The  Concert"  could  be 
remodeled  into  this  fuller  definition  of  Drama.  Act  II  could 
be  ended  at  the  highest  moment  of  suspense  and  the  vital  mis- 
conception might  be  legitimately  sustained  until  a  timely  de- 
nouement. The  Play  has  an  excellent  moral.  What  we  de- 
plore is  the  fact  that  its  fun  can  not  be  devoted  to  exploiting 
the  author's  concealed  philosophy  to  its  fullest  force. 

THE  DARK  LADY  OF  THE  SONNETS. 
Bernard  Shaw's  Soliciting  Skit. 

In  the  "Red  Book  Magazine"  for  January  is  a  typical  Shaw 
product  -accompanied  by  an  excellent  portrait  of  the  great 
writer.  No  one  can  accuse  Shaw  of  writing  without  a  purpose 
— at  least  his  own  purpose.  On  the  contrary  Theme  is  usually 
so  paramount  as  to  gobble  up  every  other  principle  of  Play 
Construction.    It  is  a  good  example  of  Theme  for  Theme  sake. 

In  the  present  instance  there  is  no  exception  to  this  rule. 
His  aim  is  to  make  an  indirect  appeal  to  the  English  people 
for  contributions  to  the  Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre  fund. 
After  a  preliminary  skirmish  with  characters  who  threaten  to 
construct  a  semblance  of  Plot  he  achieves  his  purpose  admira- 
bly without  recourse  to  Dramatic  Method.  The  early  portion 
of  the  skit  is  nothing  more  than  a  game  of  words — Shakes- 
peare's v/ords — and  the  subtle  suggestion  by  which  the  audi- 
ence is  moved  to  feelings  of  financial  offertory  is  nothing  but 
abstract  dialog  devoid  of  dramatization! 

Shakespeare:  ....  Therefore  must  your  majesty  take 
up  the  good  work  that  your  church  hath  abandoned  and  restore 
the  art  of  playing  to  its  former  use  and  dignity. 

Elizabeth  ...  I  tell  thee  Master  Will  it  will  be  three 
hundred  years  and  more  before  my  subjects  learn  that  man 
cannot  live  by  bread  alone,    but    by  every  word    that    cometh 

15* 


T       h       e DRAMATIST 

from  the  mouth  of  those  whom  God  inspires.  By  that  time  you 
and  I  v/ill  be  dust  beneath  the  feet  of  the  horses,  if  indeed  there 
be  any  horses  then,  and  men  be  still  riding  instead  of  flying. 
Now  it  may  be  that  by  then  your  works  will  be  dust  also. 

Shakespeare :  They  will  stand,  madam :  fear  not  for  that. 

Elizabeth :  It  may  prove  so.  But  of  this  I  am  certain  (for 
I  know  my  countrymen)  that  until  every  other  country  in  the 
Christian  world  even  to  barbarian  Muscovy  and  the  hamlets  of 
the  boorish  Germans,  have  its  playhouse  at  the  public  charge, 
England  will  never  adventure.  And  she  will  adventure  then 
only  because  it  is  her  desire  to  be  ever  in  the  fashion,  and  to  do 
humbly  and  dutifully  whatso  she  seeth  everybody  else  doing. 
But  this  I  will  say,  that  if  I  could  speak  across  the  ages  to  our 
descendants,  I  should  heartily  recommend  them  to  fulfil  your 
wish,     .     .     .     &c. 

This  is  a  pungent  thrust,  eh? 

There  is  no  denying  the  salesmanship  of  such  persuasive 
words  on  the  lips  of  the  reincarnate  Queen.  The  sketch  serves 
the  double  purpose  of  its  pecuniary  appeal  for  donations  and 
its  proceeds  resulting  from  the  production  itself.  But  the  dra- 
matic element  is  inconsequent.  Plot  takes  on  no  shadow  of  a 
Conflict  and  what  Dramatic  Suspense  there  might  be  is  dashed 
to  pieces  by  the  false  promise  of  a  mix-up  between  the  "Dark 
Lady"  and  the  "Cloaked"  one. 

The  nearest  approach  to  Interest  is  generated  by  the  prece- 
dent knowledge  in  the  minds  of  the  audience  concerning  the 
historic  associations  of  these  immortal  personages.  The  au- 
thor leaves  us  to  construct  our  own  little  play  of  solitaire.  He 
has  built  nothing  for  our  reconstructive  imaginations  to  react 
upon.  The  materials  are  offered  and  we  must  picture  the  illu- 
sion for  ourselves  exactly  as  we  perform  this  operation  in  the 
reading  of  a  book  of  fiction.  It  is  in  this  respect  that  the  skit 
departs  from  dramatic  form  and  assumes  the  nature  of  a  dia- 
logued oration.  It  is  a  clever  duet  of  recitals  at  best  and  de- 
monstrates the  possibilities  of  the  writer  who  confuses  the 
province  of  Play  with  that  of  the  Propagandist. 

DRIFTING. 

Better  Than  the  Turning  Point. 

The  best  that  can  be  said  of  "Drifting"  is  that  it  surpasses, 
anatomically,  anything  that  Mr.  Gibson  has  done.  A  very 
flimsy  Conflict  is  skilfully  divided  into  three  legitimate  Acts. 
This  is  a  tremendous  improvement  over  the  act  divisions  of 
"The  Turning  Point"  which  the  author  gave  us  last  season. 
But  the  content  of  these  acts  is  so  hollow  that  enhanced  frame- 
work is  of  little  avail. 

152 


The  DRAMATIST 

And  why  is  it  hollow?  Because  the  Play  is  founded  upon  a 
character  in  whose  existence  the  audience  cannot  believe.  And 
why  can't  they  believe  in  her?  Because  she  is  painfully  un- 
sophisticated and  no  CAUSE  is  ascribed  for  this  abnormality. 
There  should  be  some  logical  reason  for  her  utter  absence  of 
common  sense.  Is  it  her  early  training  or  environment?  Some 
radical  precedent  condition  must  account  for  this  banal  imbe- 
cility ! 

How  many  thousand  men  and  women  would  be  cross- 
exam.ined  before  finding  one  credulous  enough  to  swallow  the 
tale  that  a  bride  of  20  could  be  senseless  enough  to  accept  a 
check  from  a  man  obviously  conniving  to  alienate  her  affec- 
tions from  her  husband?  Of  course,  a  Dramatist  could  build 
up  a  situation  that  would  justify  such  procedure  but  would 
sane  human  beings  stand  for  it  in  a  bride  who  adores  her  hus- 
band and  whose  only  purpose  in  accepting  the  check  is  to  m.ake 
good  an  overdraft  at  bank  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  hubby 
has  money  to  burn  and  that  there  has  been  no  demand  made 
upon  her  for  the  account  by  the  bank  officials?  There  are  a 
thousand  ways  in  which  she  could  escape  this  trap  the  author 
so  obviously  sets  for  her. 

Upon  this  empty  situation  the  climax  of  the  entire  struc- 
ture hangs !  But  this  is  not  the  end  of  the  author's  arbitrary 
plotting.  The  occasion  of  the  husband's  discovery  of  this  check 
is  just  as  bald.  There  is  no  attem.pt  to  develop  Suspense.  The 
wife  has  every  reason  to  conceal  this  incriminating  evidence, 
particularly  in  the  presence  of  her  husband,  but  she  doesn't! 
The  author's  purpose  is  paramount.  Plot  for  plot  sake !  With- 
out the  slightest  reason,  the  husband  remarks:  "What  is  that 
paper?"  He  knows  that  there  is  something  wrong  in  that  pa- 
per because  the  author  wants  him  to  know  and  for  no  other 
earthly  reason.  The  wife  gasps  and  sputters  for  the  same  rea- 
son.   The  author  needs  such  a  device! 

The  same  brand  of  inconceivable  innocence  characterizes 
every  move  that  wifie  makes.  She  isn't  modeled  after  types 
we  meet  in  life.  She  is  the  irresponsible  essence  of  comic 
opera.  In  creating  "Trency"  Mr.  Gibson  has  run  the  gamut  of 
unreality — the  direct  antithesis  of  the  Dramatist's  goal.  Her 
paramour  is  of  a  similar  species — an  indescribable  cad — a  cari- 
cature of  stageland. 

"Drifting"  is  better  than  "The  Turning  Point"  for  several 
reasons.  Plot  is  confined  to  ONE  STORY  save  for  a  dash  of 
disunity  in  the  way  of  a  subsidiary  story  of  the  preposterous 
blandishments  of  a  frisky  divorcee  who  cooly  calculates  upon 
marrying  a  married  man  to  repair  her  depleted  purse.  There 
is  a  moment  of  dramatic  merit  in  Act  III  that  deserves  com- 
ment.   The  foolish  bride  is  about  to  elope  with  the  cause  of  all 

153 


The  DRAMATIST 

her  trouble  when  husband  intercepts.  By  honest  Scene  Con- 
struction the  author  achieves  his  purpose  of  persuading  the 
wife  not  to  go  by  giving  the  husband  every  appearance  of  sanc- 
tioning the  excursion.  Her  conversion  is  convincing  and  this 
bit  of  Art  is  the  one  redeeming  feature  in  the  play  that  dif- 
ferentiates it  from  the  enforced  performance  of  any  other  ama- 
teur effort  providing  the  wherewith  to  produce  were  forth- 
coming. 

TWO     WOMEN. 

An  Experiment  With  Two  Plots. 

Mr.  Rupert  Hughes  betrays  an  appalling  ignorance  of  the 
province  of  a  Play  in  attempting  to  unite  the  fragments  of  two 
Plots,  neither  of  which  possesses  Dramatic  quality  in  itself 
and  combined  have  less.  Henry  Fielding  once  wrote  a  comedy 
called  "Pasquin,"  which  bordered  on  the  double  Plot  idea,  but 
this  comprised  the  rehearsal  of  two  plays  cleverly  embodied  in 
one  satirical  Theme.  We  merely  mention  it  as  a  structure 
worth  reading. 

That  a  chaste  wife  may  set  a  standard  by  which  her  prosti- 
tute successor  must  be  measured  up  for  regeneration  is  the 
chief  idea  of  this  new  Play.  The  thematic  intention  is  further 
confirmed  by  its  title : .  "Two  Women." 

By  far  the  greatest  service  performed  in  such  a  piece  is  the 
profit  of  experience  to  manager  and  star.  It  is  difficult  to  con- 
ceive even  an  Actress  taking  hold  of  such  a  thing  seriously, 
but  a  semblance  of  strong  situation  ever  appeals  to  the  Thes- 
pian blinding  him  to  the  predominant  flaws  of  technic.  Re- 
call the  instance  of  a  star  of  Sothern's  magnitude  writing  and 
staging  "The  Light  that  Lies  in  a  Woman's  Eyes."  It  was  a 
stupid  school  boy's  make-believe.  All  of  which  goes  to  show 
that  the  actor  does  not  know  Drama  as  well  as  he  scents  a  fat 
part.  It  plainly  demonstrates  the  advisability  of  managers  and 
stars  studying  the  fundamentals  of  Play  Construction  in  self 
defense !  This  is  particularly  true  of  those  v/ho  enter  into  the 
joint  profits  of  production  with  money  to  lose ! 

Besides  having  no  tangible  Plot  this  fabric  lacks  Conflict, 
the  one  first  requisite  of  Drama.  There  is  no  conscious  conten- 
tion of  any  sustained  sort.  The  story  of  the  Play  is  undrama- 
tized,  in  other  words,  and  reels  off  the  author's  pen  like  any 
other  narrative. 

An  artist  with  a  "history"  marries  a  chaste  seamstress 
who  dies  just  as  he  comes  into  his  fortune.  He  finds  a  dance 
hall  Harlot  who  closely  resembles  the  lamented.  The  author 
evidently  intends  us  to  swallow  the  plotty  pill  that  the  spirit 
of  the  dead  wife  now  takes  a  hand  in  the  miracle.  For  the 
widower  has  no  intention  of  mating  with  the  prostitute.     He 

154 


The  DRAMATIST 

merely  wishes  to  pose  her  for  a  portrait  of  the  departed.  The 
demi-monde  has  no  premeditated  designs  on  the  artist  till  she 
contracted  a  habit  of  buying  him  neck  ties  and  half-hose  in 
wholesale  quantities.  She  then  suddenly  finds  him  a  miscreant 
for  not  marrying  her  on  the  spot  to  rescue  her  from  her  former 
companions !  And  here  we  have  Mrs.  Carter's  thrilling  situa- 
tion !  The  wouldn't  be  lovers  dash  in  and  out  of  the  tender 
passion  current  for  the  transparent  purpose  of  intermittent 
agony.  The  traditional  tempest  in  a  tea-pot.  The  heroine  is  a 
veritable  suffragette  suitoress!  She  pops  the  question  more 
than  once !  And  this  frenzied  furore  was  once  "the  real  thing" 
in  melodrama. 

But  let  us  go  on  with  the  story.  The  strumpet  goes  back  to 
her  former  keeper  and  the  artist's  attorney  follows  her  w^ith  a 
pension  proposal.  A  moment  later  the  artist  himself  appears 
in  the  private  apartments  of  the  villain !  The  "willin"  is  drunk ! 
They  quarrel!  (Situation  #2  and  fully  as  logical  as  the  first). 
These  poor  devils  don't  know  why  they  fight,  but  like  obedient 
puppets  that  they  are,  carry  out  the  spasms  inspired  in  the 
mighty  genius  of  the  Playwright,  for  inspiration  number  two 
tells  him  that  this  is  the  geographical  moment  for  a  duel !  And 
so  he  says,  "Sick  'em" — sober  and  drunk!  Can  anything  be 
more  spontaneous  than  inspired  genius?  But  even  this  is  not 
all.  The  poor  old  rickety  Plot  reeks  with  false  purpose  piled 
high  upon  its  own  debris.  Perverted  motive  is  the  rule,  not 
the  exception. 

Structurally  speaking,  "Two  Women"  is  incomparably  the 
poorest  play  of  the  season.  We  have  not  analysed  it  on  the 
basis  of  Play  Construction.    It  defies  such  dissection ! 


DON. 

An  Ambitious  Theme  Mismanaged. 

Rudolph  Beiser's  Play  evidently  reached  production  on  the 
strength  of  one  big  moment  in  the  last  Act.  There  is  no  con- 
tinuous Interest  nor  conflict.  But  it  would  be  practically  irn- 
possible  to  thread  two  Plays  on  one  conflict  and  that  "Don"  is 
virtually  two  distinct  Plays  may  be  seen  by  the  following 
Problems : 

Problem  #1. 

Conditions :    A  girl  loves  a  fanatic  who  elopes  with  a  mar- 
ried woman. 
Cause:     His  purpose  is  shown  to  be  innocent. 
Conclusion :  The  girl  and  the  fanatic  are  reconciled. 

15s 


The  DRAMATIST 

Problem  #2. 

Conditions:     A    fanatic    rescues    the    abused    wife    of    a 
preacher. 

Cause:   The  preacher  bows  to  the  fanatic's  divine  purpose. 

Conclusion :    The  preacher  and  wife  are  reconciled. 

These  Problems  outline  the  double  Plot  that  baffled  Mr. 
Besier.  The  best  Dramatist  on  earth  could  not  fuse  them  into 
a  single  Play  save  as  the  author  has  attempted;  TELLING 
one  Plot  and  Dramatizing  the  other.  The  result  in  the  present 
instance  is,  that  neither  Plot  is  wholly  TOLD  nor  wholly  en- 
acted. Each  has  a  turn  at  Dramatization  and  recitation  in 
spots. 

The  fundamental  character  weakness  of  the  Play  is  that  of 
the  hero.  He  is  a  fanatic  whose  conduct  is  beyond  the  range 
of  accepted  hum.an  beliefs.  When  a  character  is  actuated  by  a 
motive  that  the  average  auditor  rejects,  because  of  its  absurd 
contrast  to  norm.al  behavior,  the  thing  becomes  obviously  a 
concoction  of  the  author. 

Next  to  the  structural  defect  of  Conflict,  above  cited,  comes 
the  false  suspense  all  through  Act  I  and  half  of  II,  regarding 
the  hero's  elopement  with  a  m.arried  woman.  He  has  not 
eloped  and  a  few  grains  of  common  sense  would  compel  him  to 
arrest  his  sweetheart's  solicitude.  A  mere  v/ord  v/ould  dissolve 
this  suspicion  at  any  time.  But  again  the  author  suppresses 
the  truth  for  theatric  effect.  By  so  doing  he  wrecks  all  real 
sympathy  for  his  hero.  For  no  one  wants  to  see  a  charming 
girl  marry  this  driveling  idiot. 

The  denouement  of  the  second  Play  is  never  accomplished. 
The  husband  merely  receives  a  convenient  "flash  of  truth" 
which  transmogrifies  his  savage  spirit.  But  this  "flash"  must 
be  Dramatized!  The  audience  can't  look  into  this  fellow's 
heart  by  any  X-ray  process.  And  no  amount  of  testimony 
from  the  accused  is  convincing.  If  we  are  to  believe  this  wife- 
beating  brute  will  reform  there  must  be  some  demonstration 
of  his  change  of  soul !  The  author  leaps  the  gap  in  Plot  by  an 
inference  that  the  fanatic's  divine  power  has  worked  the  mira- 
cle. But  this  is  not  Drama.  It  does  not  "get  across!"  The 
Play  ideas  are  both  possible,  the  second  Problem  has  big 
possibilities.    But  the  treatment  is  highly  undramatic. 

THEFT. 
Jack  London's  Latest  Attempt. 
A  man  of  Mr.  London's  popularity  as  a  writer  of  weird 
stories  has  little  difficulty  in  finding  a  publisher  for  his  at- 
tempted plays.     He  has  been  attempting  and  publishing  for 
some  years!     A  man  of  soundest  judgment  may  be  seduced 

156 


The  DRAMATIST 

by  the  burning  desire  to  write  what  he  thinks  Drama.  History 
offers  numerous  examples.  At  the  present  moment,  however, 
we  know  of  no  prominent  author  who  can  surpass  Jack  Lon- 
don for  misconception  of  the  Science  of  Play  Construction. 
He  caps  the  climax  on  all  counts !  Theme,  Plot,  Logic,  Unity, 
Sequence,  Suspense,  Scene  and  Dialog !  All  the  Principles  are 
as  cheerfully  violated  as  though  the  author  had  set  out  with 
the  malicious  intention  of  abusing  rather  than  using  them. 
The  book  is  published  by  The  MacMillan  Company  at  $1.25. 

"Theft"  is  a  tale  of  wantonness.  It  involves  material  for 
several  very  bad  plaj^s  but  constructs  no  semblance  of  any 
ONE.  In  order  to  reach  a  Conclusion  where  sympathy  is 
hopelessly  shattered  for  both  hero  and  heroine  the  writer  de- 
moralizes a  statesman  of  high  ideals  and  corrupts  a  magnifi- 
cent woman.  And  for  what?  AU  for  the  sake  of  dragging  them 
through  situations  that  are  supposedly  Dramatic.  In  the  end 
the  author  endeavors  to  round  up  this  budget  of  idle  talk,  po- 
litical economy,  voluptuous  suggestiveness,  bribery,  graft,  cor- 
ruption, infidelity  and  theft,  by  the  spontaneous  announcement 
that  this  married  woman's  love  restores  the  statesman's  lost 
soul  and  that  in  renouncing  her  husband  and  child  she  is  pro- 
moting the  great  cause  of  humanity! 

As  for  Plot,  it  would  be  difficult  to  trace  any  intended  one. 
The  whole  book  is  a  confusion  of  episode,  atmosphere  and 
prattle.  One  of  the  principle  essentials  of  Plot  takes  place  in 
a  distant  city  and  a  report  of  this  feature  is  telegraphed  to  the 
Scene  of  action.  Of  course  such  essentials  must  be  visualized 
before  the  eyes  of  the  auditors. 

There  are  some  intense  moments  of  isolated  Suspense  like 
the  Scene  where  a  father  orders  his  daughter  stripped  to  the 
skin  in  a  room  full  of  people  of  both  sexes  with  nothing  but  a 
screen  to  shield  her.  The  author  demands  that  she  be  searched 
for  the  "missing  papers."  There  is  no  Plot  necessity  of  this 
outrage,  for  if  the  father  could  trust  the  housekeeper  to  search 
her  behind  a  screen  he  could  certainly  permit  them  to  retire  to 
an  adjoining  room,  even  if  he  had  to  accompany  them.  There 
is  no  disputing  the  theatric  sensuality  of  this  situation.  But 
even  if  properly  employed,  so  far  as  technic  is  concerned,  it 
would  still  reflect  the  author's  depraved  imagination  on  ac- 
count of  the  obviousness  of  his  insistence  upon  disrobing  this 
dignified  creature  under  such  suggestive  circumstances. 

Here  we  have  another  proof  of  the  dire  necessity  for  techni- 
cal study.  The  mightiest  genius  the  world  can  produce  would 
go  just  as  far  wrong  as  our  friend  London  if  he  undertook  to 
write  Drama  without  knowledge  of  the  structural  work  that 
precedes  this  covering  of  words.  The  more  fertile  the  imagi- 
nation the  more  absurd  will  be  the  result  where  creative 
faculty  is  not  guided  by  Dramatic  Law! 

157 


The DRAMATIS       T 

THE    SILVER    BOX. 

Galsworthy's  Nearest  Approach  to  Drama. 

It  is  a  long  leap  from  fiction  to  Drama  and  Mr.  Galsworthy- 
is  making  average  progress.  His  greatest  weakness,  perhaps, 
is  to  let  purpose  predominate,  that  is  HIS  purpose.  He  has 
acquired  this  habit  writing  novels. 

The  same  skill  that  constructs  a  Dramatic  Scene  can  build 
a  Play  if  adequate  knowledge  of  specifications  guides  the 
larger  operation.  But  obviously  a  man  must  know  what  a 
Play  is  before  he  can  design  one  and  to  recognize  that  it  is  not 
a  mere  essay  exploiting  the  author's  views  of  a  chosen  Theme 
is  one  of  the  first  requisites.  This  excess  of  Theme  makes  a 
Play  preachy.  It  is  Theme  for  Theme  sake.  In  other  words 
the  characters  stop  talking  for  their  own  account  and  spout 
the  doctrines  of  the  author. 

This  fiction  writing  proclivity  dictates  the  two  unnecessary 
shifts  of  curtain  in  Act  I  and  the  one  in  Act  II  of  what  is  oth- 
erwise Mr.  Galsworthy's  best  structural  specimen.  The  Dra- 
matist's conscience  would  not  permit  this  caprice.  It  is  so 
easy  for  the  amateur  to  imagine  that  his  peculiar  material  de- 
mands the  frequent  fall  of  the  curtain.  In  reality  it  is  the  au- 
thor who  needs  shifting!  With  the  feeblest  effort  these  three 
periods  of  time  signified  by  the  three  separate  scenes  of  Act  I 
could  be  compressed  into  One  sustained  division  of  the  Conflict 
setting  forth  Plot  Conditions. 

The  needless  subdivision  of  Act  II  creates  a  second  scene 
that  contains  nothing  of  vital  purpose  or  progress  to  the  Play. 
Out  of  narrative  habit  the  author's  pen  rambles  over  pages  of 
interesting  reading  that  contribute  nothing  to  the  advance- 
ment of  Problem  though  he  keeps  within  boundaries  of 
theme.  What  there  is  of  value  in  this  second  fragment  could 
be  utilized  in  the  third  Act  where  consultations  with  the  attor- 
ney would  be  more  fitting.  The  author  seems  actually  to  pre- 
fer the  abomination  of  interrupted  Acts!  There  is  no  surer 
means  of  diluting  the  Dramatic  illusion. 

But  the  Play  is  not  without  its  points  of  merit.  In  the  third 
Act,  Theme  is  skillfully  dramatized.  The  author's  purpose  is 
so  deftly  imbedded  in  the  suspense  of  the  proceeding  that 
theme  is  wedded  to  Suspense  and  we  are  led  to  hope — hope — 
hope — for  the  very  thing  that  is  destined  not  to  happen.  This 
very  failure  and  disappointment  drives  home  the  hopelessness 
of  a  square  deal  where  wealth  opposes  poverty  before  the  ma- 
jesty of  the  Law.  It  is  another  phase  of  the  Theme  attempted 
in  "Justice"  by  the  same  writer,  but  "The  Silver  Box"  is  far 
better  treatment.  The  play  is  published  by  G.  P.  Putnam's 
Sons  along  with  two  others,  "Joy"  and  "Strife,"  at  $1.35.  All 
three  are  excellent  studies  in  easy  dialog  but  alive  with  exam- 
ples of  over  doctrined  Drama. 

158 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

FRITZCHEN. 

Sudermann  Is  Not  Learning. 

Although  Sudermann  is  frequently  grouped  with  the 
world's  great  Dramatists,  the  searchlight  of  Science  does  not 
show  that  he  is  technically  more  than  a  loquacious  amateur. 
"Fritzchen"  is  not  a  Play  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  It  is 
a  narrated  report  of  a  drama  which  takes  place  elsewhere.  In 
the  entire  skit  no  two  Plot  characters  come  together  to  ignite 
that  vital  Dramatic  spark  called  Conflict.  The  nearest  approach 
to  legitimate  Scene  purpose  is  the  meeting  of  father  and  son. 
(Scene  8  in  the  printed  edition).  But  the  father  is  no  Principal 
in  the  actual  Plot.  He  is  concerned  in  his  son  but  not  involved 
in  the  boy's  affair.  In  a  well  built  Play  every  principal  in  the 
cast  is  INVOLVED  in  the  Scene  he  enacts.  No  one  is  ob- 
serving this  fundamental  more  accurately  than  the  American 
author.  Sundermann  would  do  well  to  study  our  Drama.  He 
is  forty  miles  behind  the  procession ! 

Let  us  take  up  the  thread  of  the  story  of  "Fritzchen"  and 
see  just  what  fragments  get  across  the  footlights.  The  first 
event  is  the  disappointment  of  a  young  girl  at  the  absence  of 
mail.  Who  is  she?  We  cannot  tell.  She  chats  with  the  ser- 
vant as  though  she  might  be  one  of  his  class  and  he  apparently 
knov.'s  her  secret  despair  but  won't  tell  us!  We  are  given  no 
glimm.er  of  the  relation  between  the  girl  and  the  party  from 
whom  she  expects  this  epistle.  The  author  evidently  intends 
us  to  jump  at  the  conclusion  she  is  in  love  with  him — for  are 
net  all  plays  teeming  of  the  tender  passion? 

Her  uncle  enters  and  we  have  every  reason  to  believe  from 
the  conversation  that  they  are  expecting  "Stephen."  Perhaps 
"Stephen"  is  her  lover?  No,  he  is  only  the  "hired  man."  Un- 
cle goes  on  about  the  young  rascal  who  has  not  written,  still 
withholding  his  identity.  We  have  learned  that  the  girl  is  re- 
lated to  this  old  gentleman.  We  now  learn  that  she  also  has 
an  aunt,  his  wife.  But  still  no  hint  of  the  relation  "the  young 
rascal"  bears  the  three.  Poor  aunt  has  a  weakened  heart! 
Uncle  has  forged  telegrams  and  all  sorts  of  things  to  keep  her 
from  knowing  "the  young  rascal  hasn't  written." 

We  now  learn  that  the  boy's  name  is  Fritz  and  that  uncle  is 
"wise"  to  a  clandestine  correspondence  between  him  and  the 
niece.  We  are  now  presented  with  more  incoherent  news,  en- 
tirely out  of  Sequence  and  TALKED  by  parties  of  the  third 
part.  "Little  Frohn"  (We  have  no  idea  who  he  is)  has  written 
to  the  girl  telHng  of  Fritz's  capers  v/ith  a  married  lady.  From 
a  line  that  is  dropped  we  might  now  conjecture  that  the  girl 
loves  Fritz,  but  it  is  not  the  author's  intention  that  we  should 
fully  grasp  the  thought;  he  avoids  direct  evidence  of  the  fact. 

159 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  girl  blushes  cnce,  and  the  uncle  tells  her  no  one  has  no- 
ticed her  concealed  jealousy — and  we  might  add:  "Not  even 
the  audience !" 

We  are  now  confronted  by  the  momentous  problem  of  the 
"browns  or  the  whites."  Uncle  cannot  decide  which  team  to 
drive  to  town  with!  But  he  finally  departs  and  Lieutenant 
von  Hallerfort  mysteriously  appears.  Why  all  this  secrecy? 
We  do  not  know.  Sequence  is  missing — we  get  effect  before 
cause.  Perhaps  this  young  man  is  a  rival  lover?  No.  He 
merely  announces  the  startling  news  that  Fritz  is  coming  and 
requests  that  she  "reckon  by  her  watch  a  half  hour  from  the 
moment  when  he  comes  in  here,  and  then"  send  a  message  &c. 
A  little  more  of  the  mystery  of  the  Lieutenant's  presence  and 
he  is  off.  We  laid  some  store  by  this  mystery  but  alas,  he 
doesn't  even  snatch  a  kiss!  And  now  the  aunt  conjectures. 
She  has  psychically  absorbed  the  "married  lady"  referred  to  in 
"Little  Frchn's"  letter.  This  lady  has  a  rude  husband !  "What 
can  an  audience  make  of  this?  It  is  further  effect  preceding 
cause!     Could  any  amateur  obscure  his  Plot  more  securely? 

The  aunt  relates  a  vision  she  has  seen.  Poetic  experts 
would  label  this  a  master  stroke!  It  bears  such  potent  con- 
trast to  something  that  is  to  come.  We  know  that  something 
is  coming  from  the  prophetic  nature  of  this  vision !  If  we  have 
guessed  that  it  is  her  son  that  she  talks  about  it  is  no  fault  of 
Sudermann's.  The  fact  is  not  established  in  the  text  and  the 
girl's  presence  in  the  home  of  the  man  she  apparently  loves  is 
unexplained.  This  may  be  foreign  standpoint.  It  is  foreign  to 
Dramatic  fact. 

What  Sudermann  labels  as  his  seventh  structural  scene  ac- 
complishes nothing  save  Fritz's  absent  mindedness  about 
some  vague  something.  So  long  as  we  do  not  know  what  it  is 
there  is  no  possibility  of  Dramatic  Conflict.  We  haven't  the  in- 
gredients that  make  for  Suspense.  The  best  that  can  be  accom- 
plished by  such  procedure  is  utter  dismay.  The  six  Scenes 
that  have  preceded  are  fully  as  vapid  so  far  as  any  Plot  essence 
is  concerned.  They  all  lead  to  nothing.  Nothing  really  hap- 
pens. At  the  end  of  the  seventh  Scene  we  have  no  tangible  in- 
timation of  the  premises  of  a  Play  and  in  the  eighth  Scene  we 
find  that  no  Drama  is  scheduled.  Like  the  fickle  fable  writer 
the  author  springs  a  brand  new  theatric  situation,  which  might 
have  been  Dramatic  had  the  premises  been  erected  to  sustain 
such  a  climax.  There  is  a  vibration  resembling  Interest  in  the 
girl's  doom  to  disappointment  when  we  HEAR  that  Fritz  is 
disgraced  and  his  threatened  duel  doubtless  awakens  extrane- 
ous emotion  in  the  breast  of  the  German  where  this  false  code 
of  honor  prevails. 

Of  course  we  must  discount  liberally  for  translation.  The 
Dramatic  quality  of  this  English  is  very  bad.     (Published  by 

1 60 


The  DRAMATIST 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  $1.25).  But  translation  cannot  mate- 
rially effect  technic.  No  master  craftsman  could  put  out  a 
piece  like  "Fritchen"  under  disguise  of  Drama.  The  inevita- 
ble conclusion  must  be  that  Sudermann  is  in  the  childhood  of 
his  Art.  He  has  a  splendid  eye  for  the  big  moment,  but  if  he 
allows  the  magnitude  of  this  event  to  swallow  up  the  Condi- 
tions and  Cause  of  his  creation,  there  is  little  chance  of  his 
ever  doing  a  real  Play.  Even  Maeterlinck  would  not  tolerate 
this  utter  disregard  of  Drama.  But  both  men  have  years  of 
study  between  them  and  the  perfection  of  Play  Construction! 
It  is  the  duty  of  "The  DRAMATIST"  to  point  out  these 
diseased  Dramatic  tissues  lest  the  beginner  be  deceived  into 
taking  the  work  of  a  supposed  master  as  a  working  model. 
There  are  many  American  writers  far  more  worthy  of  emula- 
tion and  there  are  hundreds  of  unproduced  amateurs  who 
would  hesitate  to  palm  oH  such  lame  stuff  for  Drama ! 


THE  NIGGER. 
Better  Than  "Salvation  Nell." 

When  Edward  Sheldon  writes  a  play  as  uniformly  good  as 
the  last  47  pages  of  "The  Nigger"*  he  will  put  out  his  master- 
piece. He  will  never  surpass  the  last  Scenes  in  this  play  for 
he  here  achieves  the  highest  purpose  of  the  Dramatist  con- 
forming strictly  to  Theme  and  motivating  every  character 
utilized — every  syllable  said.  There  is  as  wide  a  chasm  be- 
tween "The  Nigger"  and  "Salvation  Nell"  as  between  "China- 
town Charhe"  and  "Madam  X." 

But  why  is  this  praise  not  applicable  to  the  entire  play?  Do 
you  think  it  because  the  Dramatist  was  inspired  at  this  parti- 
cular epoch?  Yes!  Inspired,  not  so  much  by  the  muse,  as  by 
the  fact  that  he  had  accidentally  stumbled  upon  the  legitimate 
path  of  Plot.  We  can  vouch  that  the  straight  road  was  not 
intentional  for  the  major  portion  of  the  play  is  hopelessly  mud- 
dled by  side  paths  and  windings  of  disunity.  In  other  words, 
Mr.  Sheldon  has  built  better  than  he  knew  because  uncon- 
sciously he  conformed  to  the  immutable  Law  of  Drama.  His 
talents  were  centered  on  one  purpose  in  these  latter  Scenes. 
In  many  of  the  other  situations  the  same  genius  is  wasted  on 
dramatic  effect  for  effect  sake  without  regard  for  Problem 
or  Plot. 

This  last  inference  applies  to  the  bulk  of  Acts  I  and  II. 
Act  I  is  consumed  with  a  horrible  negro  lynching  scene;  the 
rapist  fresh  from  assault  paraded  before  our  very  eyes.  Of 
course  it  may  be  contended  that  atmosphere  is  afforded,  that 
Theme  is  in  keeping  and  that  contrast  is  sharpened  for  the 

*The  MacMillan  Co.,  New  York  Price  $1.25. 

161 


The  DRAMATIST 

taint  of  this  fiend's  blood  that  courses  through  veins  of  "Mor- 
row." But  all  such  argument  is  futile.  No  jot  of  Theme,  no 
breath  of  atmosphere  is  introduced  in  a  real  play  unless  it 
serves  the  joint  purpose  of  advancing  Conflict  in  accord  with 
Problem !  And  if  legitimately  used  this  lynching  incident  must 
be  made  to  materially  advance  the  Plot  or  remain  spurious  epi- 
sode. The  one  redeeming  feature  of  the  act  is  Philip's  love 
scene  with  Georgie  (Pages  47  to  57).  Georgie's  trip  abroad  is 
a  foreign  device  to  rouse  sleeping  sentiments.  This  should  be 
accomplished  by  means  of  material  within  the  Scene.  But 
what  we  mean  by  redeeming  quality  is  the  fact  that  this  love 
Scene  is  a  legitimate  factor  in  Plot  and  Problem.  It  is  required 
that  these  two  young  people  love.  The  author  has  established 
this  fact  by  means  of  a  Scene — not  TELLING  us  through  the 
other  characters. 

Noyes'  wooing  is  no  part  of  the  Conflict  and  is  a  false  step 
at  the  start.  To  make  him  a  suitor  violates  the  probability  of 
the  same  man  holding  the  nomination  of  Governor  in  his  hand 
for  "Phil."  The  main  Conflict  is  one  of  race,  not  love,  and  it 
is  false  pretense  to  mislead  an  audience  into  expecting  a  Plot 
of  rival  lovers.  Here  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  necessity  for 
concentration  on  ONE  STORY  for  One  Play!  The  greedy 
amateur  summons  every  available  detachment  of  his  Theme 
and  ruthlessly  pursues  disintegration  to  the  bitter  end.  The 
DRAMATIST  bends  the  same  effort  toward  rejecting  every 
possible  atom  of  disunity.  He  knows  that  his  pungency  of 
purpose  lies  in  absolute  concentration  of  energy.  This  rule 
works  both  ways.  It  stimulates  the  author's  genius  to  the 
highest  pitch  and  by  confining  the  attention  of  the  audience  to 
ONE  isolated  tale  affords  the  highest  essence  of  illusion. 
Moral :    Let  variety  remain  the  province  of  the  vaudeville ! 

We  are  gradually  learning  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  parade 
all  the  ingredients  of  a  Play  before  the  audience  prior  to  pre- 
senting them  in  concrete  form  of  Scene.  Note  the  vague  hints 
dropped  in  Act  I  concerning  "Phil's"  doubtful  parentage. 
These  are  premature.  They  are  designed  to  create  Suspense 
but  result  in  nothing  short  of  dismay.  The  audience  is  merely 
given  a  sufficient  fragment  of  precedent  conditions  to  set  them 
thinking  distracted  thoughts  that  will  tend  to  vitiate  valid 
Plot  elements  so  far  as  their  subconscious  reception  of  same  is 
concerned.  And  why  duplicate?  The  full  facts  of  "Phil's" 
illicit  antecedents  are  brought  out  in  "Jinny's  confession  (See 
Page  164)  by  truly  dramatic  means.  This  is  one  of  the  most 
telling  Scenes  in  the  play,  for  the  author  sets  up  a  vital  prob- 
lem for  himself  and  solves  it  scientifically.  It  is  one  of  the  es- 
sentials of  Plot  and  comes  out  in  the  nature  of  unfolding  of 

162 


The DRAMA       T       I       S       T 

Play  but  is  seriously  diluted  by  reason  of  repetition.  The  blun- 
dering attempts  to  TALK  these  same  facts  into  the  audience 
in  Act  I  are  out  of  Sequence.  We  see  nothing  to  come  of  it 
then,  for  cart  is  hitched  before  the  horse. 

By  reducing  the  Play  to  rock  bottom  Problem  we  can  best 
measure  merits  and  discrepancies. 

Problem. 

Conditions:   A  man  with  negro  blood  is  elected  Governor. 

Cause :  His  opponent  threatens  exposure  of  this  taint. 

Conclusion:   The  Governor  submits  rather  than  relinquish 
principle. 

You  may  find  it  difficult  to  so  forget  the  workings  of  Plot 
as  to  analyse  down  to  its  framework  but  this  Problem  is  the 
first  scaffolding  of  "The  Nigger."  As  we  proceed  to  erect  the 
bolder  outlines  we  add  that  this  governor  is  a  Southerner  with 
all  the  pride  that  type  implies — that  he  is  ignorant  of  his  negro 
blood — and  that  along  with  predominant  Southern  principle  he 
must  renounce  his  love  for  a  white  girl — that  his  opponent  is 
a  distiller  and  that  the  bill  before  the  governor  is  to  prohibit 
the  sale  of  liquor.  One  by  one  these  counter  Causes  add  to  the 
cohesiveness  of  plot  in  development,  but  it  is  only  such  factors 
as  promote  the  Problem  that  legitimately  belong  in  the 
Play.  This  lets  the  biplot  of  the  distiller's  love  for  the  white 
girl  out.  It  does  not  call  for  the  negro  lynching.  It  disquali- 
fies the  necessity  of  a  race  riot  in  II  for  Plot  does  not  take  hold 
in  Act  II  till  some  30  odd  pages  have  elapsed.  The  riot  is 
doubtless  intended  for  atmospheric  value  but  it  is  illicit  for  the 
reason  that  the  Play  halts  while  this  chaff  is  being  played  and 
no  Plot  progress  is  accomplished.  Real  Plot  begins  at  page 
135. 

As  shown  in  Problem  and  demanded  by  Theme  the  real 
conflict  concerns  race  prejudice.  Without  the  ability  to  SEE 
and  adhere  to  this  three  clause  basis  of  a  Conflict  it  is  very 
difficult  for  an  author  to  select  such  essentials  as  require  rep- 
resentation by  means  of  Scene  building  and  relegate  to  inci- 
dental mention  such  items  as  the  audience  will  accept  as 
DRAMATIC  FACT  upon  merest  allusion. 

But  Mr.  Sheldon  has  made  more  than  his  share  of  progress 
since  "Salvation  Nell."  In  the  few  years  intervening  he  has 
gone  ten  years  to  the  good.  The  thing  he  still  lacks  is  the 
Artist's  Eye  with  which  to  SEE  his  picture — to  form  a  fin- 
ished concept  in  the  mind  before  transmitting  it  to  Dialog. 
May  the  next  few  years  be  as  kind  to  him !  We  need  such 
Dramatists! 

163 


The  DRAMATIST 

CANDIDA. 

A  Personally  Conducted  Plot. 

In  Brentano's  published  version  of  this  play  ($1.25)  there 
are  two  fundamental  flaws.  The  first  is  the  absence  of  coher- 
ent Conflict,  the  second  is  the  weak  and  sniveling  character  of 
the  poetic  19-year-old  boy  whose  irresponsibility  makes  him 
an  inplausable  contestant  for  Candida's  love  against  the  ro- 
bust, resolute  husband  of  forty.  There  is  slight  disunity  in  the 
irrelevance  of  the  curate,  the  typist  and  the  father-in-law,  but 
the  story  rests  upon  one  thread.  An  attempt  at  Problem  will 
demonstrate. 

PROBLEM. 

Conditions :  A  poet  professes  a  superior  love  for  a  parson's 
wife. 

Cause :  The  parson  permits  her  to  make  a  choice. 

Conclusion:   The  wife  continues  to  love  her  own  husband. 

The  Conflict  lacks  reality  on  several  counts.  The  husband 
never  really  considers  the  boy  as  a  formidable  adversary  after 
the  isolated  instance  of  a  combat  at  the  end  of  Act  I.  Here 
the  Play  gives  promise  of  real  battle, — but  much  of  Act  II  is 
given  over  to  the  poet's  aimless  titter  with  the  typist  on  the 
topic  of  love — a  commodity.  The  Conflict  is  not  resumed  after 
that  save  in  an  author's  personally-conducted  tour  of  mental 
superficialities.  The  effort  to  stimulate  the  husband's  anxiety 
is  unfounded.  The  wife  is  not  shown  to  be  in  love  with  the 
boy. 

To  make  this  love  for  a  youth  convincing  in  a  woman  of 
thirty-five  her  attachment  must  be  drawn  with  indelible  clar- 
ity. In  the  Dramatic  sense  of  the  word  there  is  no  issue.  In- 
stead of  that  definite  clash  of  wills  that  characterizes  good 
Drama,  there  is  a  weak,  wishy-washy  semblance  of  contention 
which  needlessly  degrades  the  wife  and  contradicts  the  hus- 
band's resolute  personality.  The  boy  is  a  mere  shadow  of  the 
infant  genius  he  is  designed  to  portray.  His  type  is  one  so  re- 
mote from  general  human  experience  as  to  be  of  little  interest 
to  the  crowd. 

From  this  may  be  drawn  a  valuable  lesson.  Avoid  the  ex- 
treme and  employ  the  normal.  The  familiar  type  affords  a  far 
greater  opportunity  of  subtle  character  analysis.  Here,  as  in 
Plot,  it  is  the  uncommon  treatment  of  the  common,  rather  than 
of  the  complex  that  spells  achievement. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  this  journal  to  warn  the  aspirant 
against  such  spineless  specimens  of  Play  Construction.  A  stu- 
dent might  pursue  this  style  of  technic  for  a  thousand  years 

164 


DRAM 


and  never  discern  the  secret  paths  to  Plajrwriting.  It  is  an 
easy  matter  to  confuse  Mr.  Shaw's  pungent  brand  of  Philoso- 
phy with  the  subtleness  of  Dramatic  Conflict,  but  they  are  as 
distantly  related  as  any  other  species  of  prepared  preachment. 
Confine  your  psychological  speculation  to  the  motives  which 
rule  the  conduct  of  your  character.  Do  not  attempt  to  exploit 
your  Theme  beyond  the  boundary  circumscribed  by  your  Plot. 


165 


DRAM 


IF  you  are  unable  to  obtain  com- 
petent criticism  on  your  own 
manuscripts,  forward  them  to  the 
Playreading  Department. 

The  Dramatist 

Easton,  Pa. 


i66 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER  B.  ANTHONY.  E.ditor 

Vol.  II.                            EASTON,  PA. 

No.  4 

QUARTERLY                            1911 

JULY 

Reading  of  Plays 


The  Competent  playreader  is  as  scarce  an  article  as  a 
wholly  commendable  play.  Why?  Because  it  is  necessary  for 
the  manuscript  judge  to  stop  up  the  channels  of  conscious 
thought  in  reading  real  drama  and  measure  dramatic  merit  by 
the  impressions  recorded  on  his  subconscious  imagination.  In 
other  words  he  must  forget  self  and  FEEL  trait  effects 
through  the  primitive  instincts  of  the  race  to  which  he  belongs. 

It  is  a  strange  statement  to  make  that  the  spectator's  think- 
ing mind  is  not  involved  in  seeing  an  ideal  play.  If  it  is 
brought  into  operation  the  play  is  at  fault.  The  playwright  is 
concerned,  therefore,  with  the  problem  of  putting  the  mind  to 
sleep  and  entertaining  his  audience  with  a  hypnotic  dream. 

It  is  only  by  rare  remnants  of  complete  dramatization  that 
this  theory  can  be  demonstrated.  For  play-building  is  only  in 
its  babyhood.  The  achievements  thus  far  obtained  are  ran- 
dom results  of  a  hit-and-miss  method.  What  the  future  holds 
for  dramatic  composition  is  only  visible  to  the  imagination  of 
the  theorist  who  can  idealize  years  before  the  world  may  real- 
ize. 

But  it  is  not  far  distant  when  plays  may  be  built  with  illu- 
sion so  infinite  that  no  susceptible  theatre-goer  will  rouse  from 
the  enchanted  dream  of  subconsciousness  during  the  entire 
period  of  performance ! 

Is  this  a  wild  prognostication? 

The  Dramatist  backs  it  up  with  every  hope  and  assurance 
of  realization.  The  application  of  science  to  this  greatest  of 
arts  will  send  it  ahead  triumphantly.  When  authors  learn  that 
certain  effects  are  the  inevitable  result  of  fixed  causes  and  that 
not  a  solitary  atom  of  dramatic  interest  is  generated  without 
the  operation  of  LAW,  the  art  will  suddenly  rise  and  claim  its 
own  kingdom.  The  great  possibilities  of  drama  are  but  dimly 
shadowed  in  the  efforts  of  today. 

167 


The  DRAMATIST 

EXCUSE    ME. 

An  Actor-Made  Play. 

The  playwrights  of  antiquity  suggested  an  idea  for  the 
players  and  the  Play  proceeded  to  build  itself  out  of  their 
spontaneous  impressions.  That  this  has  been  the  case  with 
one  of  the  best  farces  of  the  season  cannot  be  doubted  by  those 
who  saw  the  trial  performance  of  "Excuse  Me,"  and  now  be- 
hold the  endless  chain  of  amiable  antics  performed  by  the  ca- 
pable cast  of  comedians  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  New  York  City. 

This  remark  is  not  made  to  minimize  the  excellence  and 
originality  in  the  author's  conception  of  his  farce.  The  diffi- 
culties of  presenting  three  whole  acts  of  a  Play  on  board  a 
train  is  easily  apparent  to  the  naked  eye.  Mr.  Hughes  has  ac- 
complished the  feat  and  sustained  a  momentary  interest  of  rare 
uniformity  with  admirable  invention. 

This  Play  is  an  excellent  example  of  the  half  illusion  spe- 
cies. The  audience  never  for  a  moment  becomes  a  willing 
party  to  the  Plot.  There  is  ever  that  implied  agreement  on 
the  part  of  the  auditor  that  he  witnesses  the  fun  of  the  per- 
formance of  his  own  knowledge  and  consent.  We  laugh  at  the 
antics  of  the  actors  never  forgetting  that  they  are  clever  mim- 
ics. Their  feigned  emotions  do  not  become  ours.  Our  souls 
do  not  live  through  the  vicissitudes  of  the  characters  repre- 
sented as  in  a  real  Play  such  as  "Baby  Mine." 

These  individual  stunts  are  of  a  high  order  of  amusement 
in  themselves  and  do  conform  to  the  law  of  UNITY  of  place 
in  so  far  as  they  transpire  in  one  Pullman  train  with  considera- 
ble sense  of  Sequence.  There  is  little  else  that  connects  the 
scraps  of  episode  which  keep  the  audience  in  continual  uproar 
with  fewer  lapses  and  leaks  than  most  any  farce  of  the  season. 
It  lacks  the  sustained  purpose  of  "Baby  Mine"  but  excels 
"Mrs.  Bumstead-Leigh"  by  reason  of  greater  fidelity  to  life  in 
its  supposed  and  comic  aspects. 

But  how  may  we  accomplish  this  closer  purpose?  How 
may  we  knit  this  variegated  group  of  stunts  into  a  whole 
fabric?  By  adhering  to  the  dictates  of  Plot!  The  simplest 
statement  of  the  possible  Plot  of  the  farce  follows : — 

A  couple  is  carried  off  on  an  overland  train  before  their 
wedding  ceremony  can  be  performed.  Their  sentimental  tri- 
bulations cause  another  couple  to  secure  a  parson  and  a  double 
wedding  ensues. 

This  is  the  central  idea  of  the  farce  and  it  is  only  as  all 
other  factors  contribute  to  it  that  the  main  plot  can  be  bene- 
fited. Every  other  issue  should  be  joined  to  this  dominant 
Conflict  and  be  made  to  promote  its  progress  as  definitely  as 
possible.     The  divorce  couple  enroute  for  Reno  might  easily 

i68 


The  DRAMATIST 

advance  the  main  story  by  the  introduction  of  incident  show- 
ing conclusively  that  their  reconciliation  is  inspired  by  the  sen- 
timental devotion  of  the  honeymoon  couple.  And  here  is  the 
test  of  validity  for  any  given  episode.  Does  it  contribute  to 
the  progress  of  the  main  Conflict?  If  it  does  not,  it  may  be 
m.ade  to.  The  art  of  playwriting  is  this  process  of  blending — 
of  eliminating  the  extraneous  just  as  truly  as  the  art  of  the 
sculptor  is  the  hewing  away  all  foreign  hunks  of  stone.  Stroke 
by  stroke  the  mass  of  material  is  formed  by  carving  out  the 
shadows  that  define  the  light. 

"Excuse  Me"  is  a  decided  improvement  over  "Two  Wo- 
men" by  the  same  author.  We  rejoice  in  the  manifest  achieve- 
ment. But  Mr.  Rupert  Hughes  must  obtain  the  art  of  fusing 
parts  into  a  whole  before  he  will  ever  do  good  Drama. 

MRS.    BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A  Play  With  One  Fat  Part. 

Mrs.  Bumstead-Leigh  is  a  good  illustration  of  providing  an 
entertaining  part  for  a  very  clever  actress  without  building  a 
Play  about  it.  Mrs.  Fiske's  adroit  personation  contributes 
more  drama  to  the  piece  than  anything  the  author  has  fur- 
nished. But  the  opportunities  are  all  there  for  a  veritable 
Sheridan  comedy.  The  following  syllogism  suggests  what  the 
Play  might  have  been  if  the  fundamentals  of  Play  Construc- 
tion had  been  employed, 

1.  A  woman  counterfeits  aristocracy  to  match  off  her  sis- 

ter to  advantage, 

2.  Their  humble  parentage  is  detected. 

3.  The  match  is  sanctioned  to  avert  publicity. 

In  the  original  Play  a  conclusion  or  third  clause  is  reached 
that  does  not  grow  out  of  the  first  two  premises.  This,  of 
course,  prevents  a  logical  form  of  reasoning.  In  the  above 
hypothetical  exercise  note  that  the  last  clause  follows  as  an 
inevitable  result  of  the  two  preceding  premises.  In  all  real 
Plays  the  Conclusion  MUST  be  a  rational  deduction  from  the 
first  and  second  premises.  The  Conclusion  of  "Mrs.  Bum- 
stead-Leigh" is  reached  by  another  route  entirely.  The  match 
is  finally  sanctioned  by  the  aristocrats  in  lieu  of  a  threat  to  dig 
up  the  wild  oats  sewn  by  the  son.  In  oth>^r  words  the  denoue- 
ment is  reached  by  reviving  history  that  is  in  no  way  related 
to  the  Plot — a  trumped-up  incident  that  does  not  emanate 
from  the  Play  proper.    It  belongs  in  a  separate  Conflict, 

"Oh,  but  they  laugh  at  it!"  And  this  remark  qualifies  the 
piece  as  a  good  entertainment  but  not  as  a  Play.  We  are  con- 
tinually under  the  necessity  of  explaining  that  the  province  of 

X69 


The  DRAMATIST 

"The  DRAMATIST"  is  to  define  Drama,  not  to  condemn 
everything  that  fails  to  conform  to  this  definition.  "Mrs.  Bum- 
stead-Leigh"  is  a  successful  Vaudeville  entertainment  put  up 
in  Play  form  v^^ithout  the  requisite  coalescence  of  the  different 
stunts. 

The  tomb-stone  oration  is  a  bold  example  of  this  fact,  A 
clown  could  undoubtedly  step  into  the  Play  and  fetch  just  eis 
many  laughs  as  the  next  one.  If  the  gentleman  from  Indiana 
does  not  perform  a  service  to  the  Plot  in  reeling  off  his  clever 
recitation  of  grave  yard  comedy  he  belongs  in  a  variety  bill 
not  a  Play.  If  this  tomb-stone  oratory  is  to  be  utilized  in  a 
Play  it  should  be  made  to  promote  some  particular  feature  of 
Plot.  Something  should  depend  upon  his  persuading  the 
principals  of  the  cast  as  to  the  advisability  of  accepting  his  pe- 
culiar brand  of  cemetery  cenotaph,  then  this  Fourth  of  July 
oration  would  become  dramatized.  As  the  matter  stands  it  is 
merely  a  funny  speech  familiar  to  musical  comedy  or  specialty 
shows.  It  is  as  isolated  in  its  present  setting  as  "Casey  at  the 
Bat." 

Even  a  farce  of  the  broadest  type  should  blend  its  ingredi- 
ents into  one  completed  whole.  The  tendency  to  pass  upon 
extraneous  items  of  interest  may  devitalize  the  dramatist's 
technic.  Observe  Unity  to  the  last  letter!  When  the  temp- 
tation to  dodge  the  issue  arises,  say  to  your  subjective  self: 
"I  am  simply  compromising  with  my  Art !  The  failure  to  fuse 
the  thing  is  with  me  and  not  with  the  implasticity  of  my  mate- 
rials !" 

THE    WORLD    AND    HIS    WIFE.* 
An  Off-Stage  Melodrama. 

Problem. 

1.  Gossips  attack  an  innocent  wife. 

2.  Their  incessant  suggestion  bears  fruit. 

3.  She  weds  the  maligned  admirer. 

At  the  request  of  one  of  our  subscribers  we  dissect  this  suc- 
cess of  a  few  years  back.  The  subscriber  deems  it  a  master- 
piece and  challenges  our  probe.  The  ruling  idea  of  the  Drama 
and  not  its  superior  craftsmanship  has  evidently  captivated 
our  young  friend.  The  entire  structure  rests  upon  a  false 
Spanish  code,  no  longer  alive  even  in  Spain,  and  this  artificial 
intrigue  of  gossip,  slander  and  duello  transpires  OFF  STAGE 
for  the  most  part.  The  generating  causes  are  infirm  in  humor- 
ous instances  and  the  end  is  invalid  since  no  Conclusion  is 

*Mitchell  Kennerly,  New  York.    Price  $1. 

170 


The  DRAMATIST 

reached  that  clears  the  one  victim  of  the  Plot — the  husband. 
Even  the  husband's  brother  still  thinks  the  wife  and  lover 
guilty.  Their  innocence  should  be  absolutely  established. 
Some  effective  incident  would  best  set  forth  this  essential. 

The  two  chief  defects  of  the  drama  are  lack  of  dramatiza- 
tion and  lack  of  motive.  Most  of  the  Plot  events  take  place 
ofT-stage  and  are  not  by  any  dramatic  means  visualized  before 
the  audience.  If  the  duels  were  to  be  withheld  as  a  matter  of 
taste,  there  are  a  hundred  ways  in  which  they  might  still  be- 
come visual  factors  in  the  Play  without  resorting  to  the  lame 
method  of  TELLING  the  audience  about  them.  And  too  fre- 
quently these  essentials  of  Plot  are  TALKED  into  the  audi- 
ence by  supernumerary  characters  such  as  the  son  of  the  hus- 
band's brother  who  has  no  earthly  connection  with  the  Play. 
The  author  merely  elects  him  to  convey  his  report  of  what  has 
happened  elsewhere,  from  time  to  time.  Study  the  Play  care- 
fully and  you  will  find  several  such  tattlers.  In  a  real  Play  all 
the  valid  incidents  should  be  enacted  or  represented  visually  in 
some  dramatic  manner.  In  other  words  they  should  be  dra- 
matized, not  narrated. 

The  unmotived  features  referred  to  are  best  illustrated  by 
Severo,  the  husband's  brother,  his  wife  and  son.  The  British 
captain  is  also  of  this  brand.  Severo  virtually  assumes  com- 
mand of  affairs  in  his  brother's  household  for  no  substantial 
reasons  of  his  own.  He  is  not  a  creature  from  life,  he  exists 
only  in  the  old  school  melodrama  long  since  deceased.  The 
audience  knows  no  such  meddling  specimens  outside  the  realm 
of  yellow-back  fiction. 

The  brother  who  readily  credits  the  first  breath  of  scandal 
that  will  injure  his  own  kin,  with  no  ulterior  motive,  is  a  being 
we  cannot  reconcile.  He  is  acting  against  his  own  best  inter- 
ests without  a  cause.  If  a  cause  were  supplied  it  would  divide 
the  Unity  of  the  Play.  Severo  is  therefore  miscast.  He  has  no 
place  in  the  Plot  for  he  is  not  a  principal.  The  person  who 
should  play  his  part  at  the  opening  of  the  Play  is  the  official 
who  has  the  authority  to  reject  Julian  on  account  of  the  gossip 
concerning  his  wife  and  her  supposed  lover. 

But  Severo's  false  conduct  does  not  end  here.  He  and  his 
wife  dominate  the  principals  in  their  own  home !  The  author 
even  strikes  Julian  with  a  delirium  so  that  he  may  conveni- 
ently believe  the  brother's  purposeless  intrigue  against  the 
wife.  But  as  we  said  before,  the  scandal  is  never  cleared  up. 
The  last  curtain  drops  without  a  solution  of  the  main  Plot. 

But  how  to  rectify  these  infirmities  and  build  with  the 
same  splendid  idea  a  Play  of  merit — this  is  the  duty  of  the 
constructive  critic,  to  point  out  the  way. 

The  idea  of  dramatic  excellence  in  this  Play  is  the  thought 
that  scandal  mongers  by  their  incessant  suggestion  of  illicit 

171 


The  DRAMATIST 

relations  between  pure  and  innocent  beings  may  eventually 
consummate  their  union.  Very  little  of  the  present  structure 
could  be  utilized  in  a  correctly  built  Play  upon  this  theme. 
The  whole  thing  must  be  rearranged.  The  scandal-monger 
must  be  one  who  is  IN  THE  PLAY  and  motived  by  real  and 
rational  purpose.  The  idea  might  be  developed  into  a  most 
powerful  regenerative  drama  wherein  miserable  machinations 
result  in  the  actual  creation  of  lofty  love  interest.  This  is  the 
note  that  struck  a  resonant  chord  in  our  subscriber's  soul. 
The  thought  is  a  big  one  and  contains  possibilities  of  a  mag- 
nificent Play.  Evolving  good  out  of  evil  is  by  far  the  highest 
province  of  the  Playwright ! 

DEAR     OLD     BILLY. 
An  Imported  Farce. 

Some  comparative  idea  of  how  the  British  receive  our  bad 
Plays  may  be  gained  by  attending  W.  H.  Risque's  farce  acted 
in  this  country  by  Mr,  William  Hawtrey  and  a  company  of 
English  players. 

There  are  few  American  amateurs  who  could  write  further 
away  from  the  definition  of  Play  if  paid  for  it.  It  is  truly  an 
Englishman's  estimate  of  what  an  American  audience  will 
"fall  for"  and  by  this  we  mean  the  traditional  "English"  brand 
of  humor. 

From  a  Yankee  standpoint  the  farce  is  not  fit  for  a  prepara- 
tory school  production  and  our  inability  to  interpret  the  im- 
ported make  of  farcial  acting  renders  the  thing  doubly  sad  in 
its  descent  from  the  ridiculous  to  the  insipid. 

Is  it  any  wonder  the  British  managers  are  looking  to  us  for 
theatrical  attractions.  The  tide  is  gradually  turning  and  the 
day  is  not  far  distant  when  export  trade  will  exceed  our  im- 
ports. 


172 


DRAM 


FACING  DBLATH 

A  DRAMA  IN  ONE  ACT 

By  August  Strindberg 

Copyright  1911  by  OHtc  M.  Johnssn 


Characters : 

Monsieur  Durand,  boarding  house  keeper,  previously  a 
railway  employee. 

Adele,  his  daughter,  27  years. 

Annette,  his  daughter,  24  years. 

Therese,  his  daughter,  18  years. 

Antonio,  lieutenant  of  the  Italian  Cavalry, 

Pierre,  a  servant. 

In  French  Switzerland  during  the  Eighties. 

(A  dining  room  with  a  long  table.  Through  the  open  door, 
center,  can  be  seen  the  tops  of  the  cypresses  in  the  cemetery, 
Lac  Lemon,  the  Savoyer-Alps  and  the  French  resort,  Evian. 
To  the  left  a  door  leads  to  the  kitchen.  To  the  right  a  door  to 
the  rooms). 


Scene  I. 

DURAND  (With  a  fieldglass,  looking  over  the  lake). 

ADELE  (Enters  from  the  kitchen;  wears  apron  and  has 
sleeves  turned  up,  carries  a  tray  with  the  coffee  service). — 
Have  you  not  fetched  the  coffee-bread  yet,  father? 

DURAND. — No,  I  sent  Pierre.  My  breath  is  failing  lately, 
so  I  cannot  climb  the  steep  hill. 

ADELE. — Pierre  again!  That  will  cost  three  sous!  Where 

DURAND. — Yes,  so  you  did,  and  you  have  at  least  shown 
are  they  to  come  from,  when  there  has  been  but  one  traveler  at 
our  house  these  two  months? 

DURAND. — That  is  very  true,  but  I  feel  that  Annette 
ought  to  get  the  bread! 

ADELE. — Then  we  would  lose  our  standing  entirely !  You 
have  done  nothing  but  throw  discredit  on  us ! 

DURAND.— Even  you,  Adele? 

ADELE. — Even  I  am  tired,  though  I  kept  up  the  longest! 
human  feeling  while  Therese  and  Annette  have  tormented  me. 
You  and  I  have  managed  the  house  since  mother  died.  You 
have  had  to  sit  in  the  kitchen  like  Cinderella  and  I  have  had  to 
do  the  serving,  sweeping,  brushing,  making  fires,  run  errands. 
You  are  tired;  what  ought  I  to  be,  then? 

173 


The  DRAMATIST 

ADELE. — But  you  have  no  right  to  be  tired,  while  you 
have  three  children  unprovided  for,  whose  fortune  you  have 
squandered. 

DURAND  (Listening). — Does  that  not  sound  like  bells 
and  drums  from  Cully?  If  a  fire  breaks  out  we  are  lost,  be- 
cause the  storm  will  soon  be  blowing.    The  lake  shows  it. 

ADELE. — Have  you  paid  our  insurance? 

DURAND. — Certainly,  or  I  could  not  have  obtained  the 
last  mortgage. 

ADELE. — How  much  is  still  clear? 

DURAND. — One  fifth  of  the  insurance  value.  But  you 
know  how  property  values  have  fallen  since  the  railway  went 
Eastward  past  our  gates. 

ADELE. — The  more  welcome  then! 

DURAND  (Harshly).— Adele!  (Pause)  Please  put  out 
the  kitchen  fire ! 

ADELE. — Impossible,  until  the  coffee-bread  arrives! 

DURAND.— Well  then,  here  it  is! 

Scene  II. 

(As  before,  Pierre  enters,  carrying  a  basket). 

ADELE  (Looking  into  the  basket). — No  bread!  Only  a 
bill!    Two!    Three! 

PIERRE. — Yes,  the  baker  says  you  can  have  no  more 
bread  until  he  is  paid. — And  when  I  passed  the  butcher  and 
grocer  they  handed  me  their  bills  (Exit). 

ADELE.— Ah!  God  in  Heaven!  This  is  our  finish !— But, 
what  is  this?    (Opens  a  package). 

DURAND. — It  is  candles  I  have  bought  for  the  mass  over 
my  beloved  Rene!  You  know  it  is  the  anniversary  of  his 
death  to-day. 

ADELE. — Such  things  you  can  afford  to  buy ! 

DURAND. — With  my  tips,  yes.  Do  you  not  consider  it 
humiliating  enough  that  I  am  obliged  to  reach  forth  my  hand 
when  travelers  move. — Do  you  envy  me  the  only  contentment 
I  know,  to  revel  in  my  sorrow  once  a  year?  To  revive  the 
memory  of  the  most  beautiful  thing  life  has  brought  me? 

ADELE. — Ah,  if  he  had  only  lived  to  grow  up,  you  proba- 
bly wouldn't  dote  on  his  beauty ! 

DURAND. — Perhaps  your  taunt  carries  truth  with  it — 
however,  as  I  remember  him,  he  was  not  like  the  rest  of  you! 

ADELE. — Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  receive  M.  Antonio 
yourself,  when  he  comes  to  drink  his  coffee,  without  bread! — 
Oh,  if  mother  was  only  alive !  She  had  the  faculty  of  manag- 
ing where  you  stand  crestfallen ! 

DURAND. — Your  mother  had  her  good  points! 

ADELE. — Although  you  found  only  bad  ones ! 

174 


The  DRAMATIST 

DURAND. — M.  Antonio  is  coming! — Go  away,  I  will 
speak  to  him. 

ADELE. — It  would  be  far  better  if  you  went  out  and  bor- 
rowed money,  so  the  disgrace  might  be  avoided. 

DURAND. — I  cannot  borrow  a  sou!  I  have  borrowed  for 
ten  years!  Let  it  collapse  at  once,  everything,  everything,  if 
the  end  only  comes ! 

ADELE. — The  end  for  you,  yes!  But  you  never  think  of 
us! 

DURAND. — No,  I  have  never  thought  of  you !    Never ! 

ADELE. — Do  you  hint  at  a  fee  for  bringing  us  up  again? 

DURAND. — I  only  answered  an  unjust  charge!  Go  now, 
and  I  will  meet  the  storm  as  usual ! 

ADELE.— As  usual!    Eh?     (Exits). 

Scene  III. 

(M.  Durand.    M.  Antonio.) 

ANTONIO. — (Enters  C.) — Good  morning,  M.  Durand. 

DURAND. — You  have  been  taking  a  walk.  Lieutenant? 

ANTONIO. — Yes,  I  have  been  down  towards  Cully  and 
seen  a  chimney  fire  put  out! — And  now  the  coffee  will  taste 
fine! 

DURAND. — I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  how  hard  it  is  for 
me  to  have  to  say  that  my  house  is  unable  any  longer  to  con- 
tinue in  business. 

ANTONIO.— How  so? 

DURAND. — To  speak  plainly,  we  are  bankrupt! 

ANTONIO. — But,  my  good  sir,  is  there  no  way  to  help 
you  out  of  this,  as  I  hope,  temporary  difficulty? 

DURAND. — No,  there  is  no  possibility!  The  house  has 
been  toppling  on  the  brink  of  ruin  for  years.  I  would  rather 
see  it  collapse  at  once  than  worry  day  and  night  about  what 
eventually  must  happen ! 

ANTONIO. — Still  I  believe  you  take  the  thing  too  seri- 
ously. 

DURAND. — What  reason  have  you  to  doubt  my  opinion? 

ANTONIO.— Let  me  help  you. 

DURAND. — I  don't  want  any  help!  Poverty  must  come 
to  teach  my  children  to  lead  different  lives.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  Adele  who  really  attends  to  the  kitchen,  what  are  they 
doing?  Playing  and  singing,  promenading  and  flirting;  and  as 
long  as  there  is  a  crust  in  the  house,  they  are  not  going  to 
learn  anything  useful! 

ANTONIO. — Even  if  it  be  so,  meanwhile  we  must  have 
food  in  the  house.  Allow  me  to  stay  another  month  and  I  will 
pay  my  board  in  advance. 

175 


The  DRAMATIST 

DURAND. — No,  I  thank  you.  We  must  now  go  to  the 
end  of  the  road  even  if  we  drive  straight  into  the  lake.  I  will 
not  continue  this  business  which  does  not  give  bread ;  only  hu- 
miliation. Picture  to  yourself  our  condition  of  last  Spring 
when  the  house  had  been  empty  for  three  months.  At  last  an 
American  family  came  and  saved  us.  The  morning  after  their 
arrival  I  caught  the  son  on  the  stairs  holding  my  daughter — it 
was  Therese — in  his  gjrms,  trying  to  kiss  her.  What  would 
you  have  done  in  my  place? 

ANTONIO  (Embarrassed) — I  don't  know — 

DURAND. — I  know  what  as  a  father  I  should  have  done, 
— but  as  a  father,  I  did  not  do  it!  Next  time  I  know  what  to 
do! 

ANTONIO. — It  strikes  me  that  just  for  such  reasons  you 
ought  to  weigh  carefully  what  you  do  and  not  leave  the  future 
of  your  daughters  to  chance — 

DURAND. — M.  Antonio — you  are  a  young  man  to  whom 
I,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  have  taken  a  fancy.  Whether 
you  appreciate  this  or  not,  I  ask  you  one  favor:  have  no  sus- 
picions whatsoever  about  myself  or  my  actions. 

ANTONIO. — M.  Durand,  I  promise,  if  you  only  answer 
me  one  question:    Are  you  bom  a  Switzer,  or  no? 

DURAND. — I  am  a  citizen  of  Switzerland! 

ANTONIO. — I  know  that,  but  I  ask  if  you  are  born  in 
Switzerland? 

DURAND  (Hesitatingly)— Yes! 

ANTONIO. — I  only  asked,  because — it  interests  me.  How- 
ever,— as  I  must  believe  you,  that  the  house  is  to  close,  I  will 
pay  my  debt.  It  is,  indeed  only  ten  francs,  but  I  cannot  leave 
without  settling  it. 

DURAND. — I  am  not  sure  that  you  owe  me  anything,  be- 
cause I  do  not  keep  the  books,  but  if  you  deceive  me  the  fault 
is  yours.  Now  I  am  going  to  get  the  bread. — Then  we  will 
see!    (goes). 

Scene  IV. 

(Antonio,  then  Therese,  carries  a  rat  trap.  She  is  in  morn- 
ing gown,  her  hair  loose.    Adele  enters  later). 

THERESE.— Oh,  here  is  Antonio !  I  thought  I  heard  the 
old  man ! 

ANTONIO. — Yes,  he  went  to  buy  the  coffee-bread,— he 
said. 

THERESE.— Has  he  not  done  that!  Oh  dear,  there  is 
really  no  putting  up  with  him  any  longer ! 

ANTONIO. — You  are  very  beautiful,  to-day,  Therese,  but 
the  rat-trap  does  not  become  you. 

176 


The  DRAMATIST 

THERESE. — And  such  a  trap!  I  have  set  it  now  for  a 
month  without  catching  a  single  rat,  but  the  bait  is  gone  every 
morning. — Have  you  seen  anything  of  Mimmi? 

ANTONIO.— That  devilish  cat?  She  is  usually  seen  on  all 
occasions!    But  to-day  I  have  actually  been  spared! 

THERESE. — You  must  talk  respectfully  about  the  absent 
and  remember  that  whosoever  loves  me,  must  love  my  cat! 
(Sets  the  trap  on  the  table  and  takes  an  empty  saucer  from  un- 
der it)     Adele ! — Adele ! 

ADELE  (In  the  kitchen  door). — What  is  it  your  highness 
demands  so  imperiously? 

THERESE, — Some  milk  for  my  cat,  and  cheese  for  your 
rats! 

ADELE.— Get  it  yourself ! 

THERESE, — Is  that  the  manner  in  which  you  answer  her 
highness? 

ADELE. — It  is  the  manner  in  which  to  answer  your  man- 
ner of  speech !     Besides  you  should  catch  it  doubly  hard  for 
showing  yourself  before  strangers  with  your  hair  uncombed. 
THERESE. — Strangers !     Here  are  only  old  acquaintances 
and — Antonio,  go  and  speak  nice  to  Aunt  Adele  and  she  will 
give  vou  milk  for  Mimmi. 
ANTONIO  (Hesitating). 
THERESE.— Well,  are  you  going  to  mind? 
ANTONIO  (Curtly).— No! 

THERESE.— What  kind  of  language  is  this?  Do  you 
wish  to  taste  my  riding- whip? 

ANTONIO.— Ah!    For  shame! 

THERESE.— What  is  this?  What  is  this?  Do  you  wish 
to  remind  me  of  my  place,  my  mistake  and  my  weakness. 

ANTONIO. — No,  I  only  wish  to  remember  my  place,  my 
mistake  and  my  weakness ! 

ADELE  (Taking  the  saucer). — See  here,  my  friends,  what 
kind  of  language  are  you  indulging  in?     Be  good  nov/ — and  I 

V7ill 

THERESE. — (Weeping).  You  are  tired  of  me  Antonio 
and  3'ou  intend  to  abandon  me. 

ANTONIO. — You  mustn't  cry,  because  then  you  get  ugly 
eyes. 

THERESE. — And  if  they  are  not  as  pretty  as  Annette's — 
then?— 

ANTONIO. — Aha!  Is  it  Annette  now?  Look  here,  folly 
aside,  I  think  the  coffee  is  rather  slow  in  coming — 

THERESE — You  would,  indeed,  be  a  pleasant  husband, 
who  cannot  wait  a  moment  for  your  coffee. 

ANTONIO. — And  what  a  darling  wife  you  would  make 
who  cannot  commit  a  stupidity  without  picking  on  your  hus- 
band. 

177 


DRAM 


Scene  V. 

(As  before.    Annette  enters  dressed  and  combed). 

ANNETTE. — I  believe  you  are  quarreling  so  early  in  the 
morning. 

ANTONIO. — Ah,  here  is  Annette  already  dressed! 

THERESE, — Oh,  yes,  Annette  is  wonderful  in  many  ways 
and  she  has  even  the  advantage  of  being  older  than  I. 

ANNETTE.— If  you  do  not  shut  your  mouth— 

ANTONIO.— Well!  Well!  Be  good  now,  Therese.  (He 
puts  arms  around  her  and  kisses  her). 

Scene  VI. 

(As  before,  M.  Durand  in  the  door,  stops  astonished). 

DUR AND.— What  is  this? 

THERESE.— (Tearing  herself  loose)     What? 

DURAND. — Did  my  eyes  deceive  me? 

THERESE.— What  did  you  see? 

DURAND. — I  saw  that  you  let  the  strange  gentleman  kiss 
you. 

THERESE.— That's  a  lie ! 

DURAND. — Have  I  lost  my  senses  or  dare  you  lie  to  my 
face? 

THERESE. — Do  you  talk  about  lying,  you  who  lie  to  us 
and  all  the  world  that  you  are  born  Swiss,  although  you  are  a 
Frenchman? 

DURAND.— Who  told  you  so? 

THERESE.— Mother  did! 

DURAND. — (To  Antonio)  M.  Lieutenant,  as  our  business 
is  settled  I  ask  you  to  leave  this  house — at  once!    Or — 

ANTONIO.— Or? 

DURAND. — Or  choose  weapons. 

ANTONIO. — I  wonder  what  weapon  you  would  choose, 
except  the  hare's  weapon. 

DURAND. — If  I  did  not  prefer  the  sword,  I  would  take 
my  gun  from  the  last  war — 

THERESE. — You  speak  of  war,  you,  who  deserted! 

DURAND. — Mother  has  said  that  too!  I  cannot  strike  the 
dead,  but  I  can  strike  the  living  dead!  (Lifts  his  cane  and 
rushes  at  Antonio,  Therese  and  Annette  throw  themselves  be- 
tween). 

ANNETTE.— Be  careful  what  you  do! 

THERESE. — You  will  end  on  the  scaffold. 

ANTONIO. — (Moving  away)  Farewell  M.  Durand!  You 
have  my  scorn  and  my  ten  Francs ! 

DURAND. — (Takes  a  goldpiece  from  his  pocket  and 
throws  after  Antonio)  My  curses  upon  you  and  your  gold! 
You  old  scamp  I 

178 


The  DRAMATIST 

THERESE  and  ANNETTE.— (To  Antonio)  Don't  go! 
Don't  go  !    Father  will  kill  us ! 

DURAND. —  (Breaks  the  cane)  He  who  cannot  kill,  dies! 

ANTONIO. — Farewell!  Now  you  lose  me,  the  last  rat  on 
the  sinking  ship !    (Goes). 

Scene  VII. 

(As  before,  without  Antonio). 

THERESE. — That  is  the  way  you  treat  our  guests!  Is  it 
any  wonder  the  house  is  crumbling? 

DURAND. — Such  treatment!  Such  guests!  But  tell  me, 
Therese,  my  child — (He  takes  her  head  between  his  hands) 
My  darling  child;  tell  me  truly  if  I  saw  wrong,  or  if  you  told 
an  untruth? 

THERESE.— (Angrily)  What  then? 

DURAND. — You  know  what  I  mean!  And  it  is  not  the 
act  in  itself,  which  might  have  been  innocent  enough — it  is  the 
question  if  I  cannot  depend  on  my  senses  that  is  worrying  me ! 

THERESE. — Talk  about  something  else — Talk  about 
what  we  are  to  eat  and  drink,  today ! — anyhow,  it  is  a  lie  that 
he  kissed  me! 

DURAND. — It  is  not  a  lie!  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  did 
I  not  see  plainly  what  passed ! 

THERESE.— Prove  it ! 

DURAND. — Prove  it!  With  two  witnesses  or  one  police- 
m.an!     Annette,  my  child,  will  you  tell  me  the  truth? 

ANNETTE.— I  saw  nothing! 

DURAND. — That  was  well  answered,  because  one  should 
not  inform  against  one's  sister. — You  are  very  like  your  moth- 
er to-day,  Annette! 

ANNETTE. — Say  nothing  evil  about  mother!  Thank 
goodness  she  is  spared  this  day! 

Scene  VIII. 

(As  before.  Adele  Enters  with  a  glass  of  milk,  which  she 
places  on  the  table). 

ADELE. — (to  Durand)  There  is  your  milk!  How  about 
the  bread? 

DURAND. — I  got  no  bread,  my  children,  but  it  will  be 
gotten,  now  as  ever. 

THERESE.— (Snatching  the  glass  from  her  father)  You 
shall  have  nothing,  you,  who  throw  away  money  and  let  your 
children  starve. 

ADELE. — Did  he  throw  away  money,  the  wretch?  He 
should  have  been  put  in  an  asylum  the  time  mother  declared 
he  was  ripe  for  it !  Look  here,  there  is  one  more  bill  handed  in 
the  back  door! 

179 


The  DRAMATIST 

DURAND  (Looks  at  the  bill,  startles,  pours  out  a  glass  of 
water,  drinks,  sits  and  lights  a  pipe). 

ANNETTE. — But  he  can  afford  to  smoke! 

DURAND  (Tired  and  submissive)— Dear  children,  this  to- 
bacco has  cost  you  no  more  than  the  water,  because  I  got  it  as 
a  present  six  months  ago !  Do  not  agitate  yourselves  without 
a  cause. 

THERESE  (Snatching  the  matches) — Anyhow,  you  are 
not  going  to  waste  the  matches — 

DURAND. — If  you  know,  Therese,  how  many  matches  I 
have  used  up  on  you,  when  I  had  to  get  up  nights  and  see  if 
you  had  thrown  the  cover  off ;  if  you  know,  Annette,  how  often 
I  have  secretly  given  you  water,  when  you  cried  for  thirst  and 
your  mother  had  the  notion  that  it  was  bad  for  children  to 
drink. 

THERESE. — That  is  so  long  ago,  that  I  don't  care  to  hear 
about  it.  Besides,  it  was  only  your  duty,  as  you  have  often 
said  yourself ! 

DURAND.— It  was,  but  I  did  my  duty !    And  a  little  more ! 

ADELE. — Continue  to  do  so!  Or  what  is  to  become  of 
us?  Three  young  girls  left  without  care  or  protection  and 
without  anything  to  live  on.  Do  you  know  what  poverty  may 
drive  us  to? 

DURAND. — I  realized  that  ten  years  ago,  but  no  one 
would  listen  to  me,  twenty  years  ago  I  plainly  foresaw  that 
this  hour  would  come,  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  prevent  it. 
I  have  been  sitting  like  a  brakeman  on  a  madly  running  train, 
have  realized  that  it  headed  for  destruction,  but  have  not  been 
able  to  get  to  the  throttle  to  stop  it. 

THERESE. — And  now  you  wish  to  be  thanked  because 
you  have  landed  us  in  the  ditch? 

DURAND. — No,  my  child,  I  only  ask  that  you  be  a  little 
less  cruel  to  me.  You  have  cream  for  the  cat  but  you  begrudge 
your  father  the  milk  though  he  has  eaten  nothing — for  a  long 
time. 

THERESE. — Is  it  you  then  that  has  begrudged  the  kittie 
her  drop  of  milk? 

DURAND.— Yes  it  is  I ! 

ANNETTE. — And  perhaps  it  is  he,  too,  who  has  eaten  the 
rat's  bait? 

DURAND.— It  is  he! 

ADELE. — What  a  swine ! 

THERESE  (Laughing).— Just  think  if  there  had  been 
poison  on  it! 

DURAND. — Ah,  if  there  only  had  been! 

THERESE. — Well,  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care,  you  who 
so  often  have  threatened  to  kill  yourself ! 

DURAND.— Why  have  you  not  killed  yourself?     Do  you 

1 80 


The  DRAMATIST 

reproach  me  thus  directly?  Well,  do  you  know  why  I  have 
not  done  it?  So  that  you  wouldn't  have  to  drown  yourselves, 
my  dear  children ! — Say  something  else  nasty  now !  It  is  like 
familiar  m^usic  of  the  good  old  times — 

ADELE. — Stop  this  useless  chatter  and  do  something.  Do 
something ! 

THERESE. — Do  you  know  what  the  consequence  may  be 
if  you  leave  us  in  this  condition? 

DURAND. — That  you  prostitute  yourselves,  no  doubt.  I 
always  said  so  to  your  mother  when  she  had  thrown  away  the 
housekeeping  money  on  lottery  tickets. 

ADELE. — Silence!  Not  one  word  about  our  dear,  beloved 
mother! 

DURAND  (Humming  to  himself). — There  burns  a  candle 
in  this  house ;  and  when  it  burns  out  the  goal  is  won !  Won  it 
will  be  !  And  then  comes  the  storm  with  a  great  noise  I  Yes ! 
— No ! — (It  has  commenced  to  rumble  and  blow  outside.  He 
springs  up.  (To  Adele)  Put  out  the  kitchen  fire!  The  storm 
is  coming! 

ADELE  (Looks  him  in  the  eye). — The  storm  is  not  com- 
ing. 

DURAND. — Put  out  the  fire!  If  a  fire  breaks  out  from 
that  source  we  will  not  get  any  insurance.  Put  out  the  fire,  I 
say !    Put  it  out ! 

ADELE. — I  do  not  understand  you ! 

DURAND  (Takes  her  hands  and  looks  into  her  eyes). — 
But  mind  me,  anyhow,  my  dear!    Do  as  I  say! 

ADELE  (Goes  into  the  kitchen,  leaves  the  door  open). 

DURAND  (To  Therese  and  Annette).— Go  upstairs  and 
close  your  windows,  children,  and  see  to  the  dampers.  But 
come  and  kiss  me  first,  I  am  going  on  a  journey — to  get  you 
money! 

THERESE.— Can  you  get  money? 

DURAND. — I  have  a  life  insurance  that  I  intend  to  realize 
on. 

THERESE. — How  much  can  you  get  on  that? 

DURAND. — Six-hundred  Francs  if  I  sell  it,  five-thousand 
if  I  die. 

THERESE  (Troubled). 

DURAND.— Speak  out  my  child!— No!  We  must  not  be 
unnecessarily  unkind !  Tell  me,  Therese,  do  you  love  Antonio 
and  should  you  be  very  unhappy  if  you  do  not  get  him? 

THERESE.— Oh  yes! 

DURAND. — Then  you  must  marry  him.  That  is,  if  he 
loves  you!  But  never  be  unkind  to  him,  because  then  you  will 
be  unhappy!  Farewell  my  darling,  darling  child !  (Takes  her 
in  his  arms  and  kisses  her  cheeks). 

THERESE.— You  must  not  die,  father!    You  must  not! 

i8i 


The  DRAMATIST 

DURAND. — Can  you  not  grant  me  peace,  at  last? 

THERESE.— Yes,  if  you  truly  wish  it!  Forgive  me,  father, 
for  all  the  times  I  have  been  unkind  to  you. 

DURAND.— Trifles,  child! 

THERESE. — But  no  one  ever  was  so  wicked  to  you,  as  I? 

DURAND. — I  noticed  it  less,  because  I  loved  you  most, — 
why  I  know  not.    Well,  go  now  and  shut  the  windows. 

THERESE.— There  are  the  matches,  father! — and— there 
is  your  milk! 

DURAND  (Smiling).— Oh  you  child! 

THERESE. — Well,  what  can  I  do?  I  have  nothing  else  to 
give  you. 

DURAND. — You  have  given  me  so  much  joy  when  you 
were  little  that  you  owe  me  nothing.  Go  now!  Give  me  but 
one  kind  look,  as  of  old ! 

THERESE  (Turns  and  throws  herself  into  his  arms). 

DURAND. — Well,  well,  my  child,  now  everything  is  for- 
given.   (Therese  runs  out). 

Scene  IX. 

(M.  Durand.    Annette,  later  Adele). 

DURAND.— Farewell  Annette! 

ANNETTE. — Are  you  going  away?  I  do  not  compre- 
hend? 

DURAND. —  I  am  going  away. 

ANNETTE.— But  you  are  coming  back,  father? 

DURAND. — No  one  knows  if  he  lives  over  the  morrow,  so 
at  any  rate  we  may  say  good-bye. 

ANNETTE.— Goodby  then,  father!  Happy  journey!  Do 
not  forget  to  bring  something  to  us,  as  you  used  to?     (Goes). 

DURAND. — She  remembers  that,  though  it  is  long  since  I 
brought  anything  for  my  children!  Goodby,  my  Annette! 
(Humming  to  himself)  For  good  or  evil,  little  or  big,  as  you 
sow  so  must  you  reap. 

ADELE  (Enters). 

DURAND. — Adele!  Now  you  must  listen  to  me!  And 
understand! — If  I  speak  in  hidden  terms  it  is  only  because  I 
wish  to  spare  your  conscience.  You  mustn't  know  too  much! 
— Now  first  ask  me;  "Have  you  any  life  insurance?" — Well! 

ADELE  (Questioning,  uncertain) — Have  you  any  life  in- 
surance?" 

DURAND. — No,  I  have  had  once,  but  I  sold  it  long  ago, 
because  I  noticed  that  some  one  was  anxious  for  it  to  fall  due. 
— But  I  have  a  fire  insurance.  Here  is  the  policy;  keep  it  se- 
curely!— Now  I  ask  you: — do  you  know  how  many  candles 
there  are  to  a  pound  at  75  centimes? 

ADELE.— Six. 

182 


The DRAMATIST 

DURAND  (Pointing  to  the  package). — How  many  are 
there? 

ADELE.— Only  five! 

DURAND. — Because  the  sixth  one  stands  very  high  up 
and  very  near  to ! — 

ADELE.— Lord  Jesus ! 

DURAND  (Looks  at  his  watch). — In  five  minutes  or  so  it 
will  have  burnt  down ! 

ADELE.— No ! 

DURAND. — Yes!  Can  you  see  any  other  light  through 
this  darkness?  No! — Very  well! — So  much  about  business. 
Now  for  another  matter !  That  M.  Durand  passes  out  of  this 
world  as  an  (Whispers)  incendiary  matters  little,  but  that  he 
has  lived  to  this  day  as  an  honorable  man  his  children  must 
know, — Well  then,  I  was  bom  in  France — I  did  not  have  to 
acknowledge  it  to  the  first  scamp  that  came! — Shortly  before 
the  age  of  conscription  I  happened  to  fall  in  love  with  her  who 
became  my  wife.  We  came  out  here  and  were  naturalized  in 
order  to  get  married! — When  the  last  war  broke  out  and  it 
looked  as  if  I  might  be  obliged  to  carry  arms  against  my  coun- 
try I  went  out  as  a  Frenchman  against  the  Germans ! — So  you 
see,  I  have  never  deserted!  Your  mother  has  made  up  that 
fable ! 

ADELE. — My  mother  never  lied ! 

DURAND. — Mercy!  Now  the  corpse  is  up  again  and 
stands  between  us !  I  cannot  bear  witness  against  the  dead, 
but  I  swear  that  I  have  told  the  truth.  Do  you  hear!  Now, 
about  your  mother's  estate.  The  matter  stands  like  this :  first 
she  scattered  my  whole  fortune  by  extravagance  and  foolish 
speculation;  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  give  up  my  position  and 
set  up  this  boarding  house.  Afterwards  a  part  of  her  estate 
had  to  be  used  for  your  education  and  that  can  surely  not  be 
called  throwing  it  away. — Consequently,  that  too,  was  an  un- 
truth— 

ADELE. — No !     Mother  said  otherwise  on  her  deathbed — 

DURAND. — Then  your  mother  lied  on  her  deathbed,  as 
she  had  done  all  her  life — and  that  is  the  curse  that  has  fol- 
lowed me  like  a  ghost !  Oh,  how  I  have  been  innocently  tor- 
tured with  those  lies  all  these  years !  I  did  not  wish  to  plant 
evil  in  your  young  souls  by  making  you  doubt  the  purity  of 
your  mother.  I  was  the  bearer  of  her  cross.  All  our  married 
life,  I  carried  her  wrongs  on  my  back,  took  the  blame  for  her 
folly,  till  I  actually  considered  myself  the  guilty  one.  And  she 
was  not  slow  to  pose  as  guiltless.  Then  as  a  martyr,  "Blame 
Me,"  I  used  to  say  when  she  was  in  a  dilemma,  and  she 
blamed !  And  I  took  it.  But  the  more  she  owed  me  the  more 
she  hated  me,  with  the  uncontrollable  hatred  of  a  creditor.  And 
at  last  she  despised  me  and  lulled  herself  into  the  notion  that 

183 


The  DRAMATIST 

she  had  fooled  me !  At  last  she  taught  you,  too,  to  despise  me 
because  she  needed  to  be  braced  up  in  her  weakness!  I  be- 
lieve that  this  evil  but  weak  soul  would  die  with  her.  But  the 
evil  lives  and  grows  like  a  disease,  while  the  healthy  growth 
stops  at  a  certain  point,  then  retrogrades.  Hence,  when  I 
wished  to  correct  the  habits  in  this  house,  you  met  me  with: 
"Mother," — "so  said  mother."  And  therefore  it  is  right!  So, 
to  you  I  became  a  weakling  when  I  was  kind;  a  wretch  when 
I  was  sensitive,  a  rascal  when  you  had  your  way  and  we  had 
gone  to  ruin! 

ADELE. — It  is  noble  indeed  to  accuse  the  dead ! 

DURAND  (Speaks  very  fast  and  excitedly). — I  am  not 
dead  yet,  but  I  will  be  soon!  Will  you  then  vindicate  me? — 
No,  you  needn't !  But  protect  your  sisters.  Care  only  for  my 
children.  Adele,  be  a  mother  to  Therese.  She  is  the  youngest 
and  the  liveliest,  hasty  for  good  and  evil,  thoughtless  and 
weak!  Try  to  have  her  married  soon,  if  you  possibly  can! — 
Now,  now  I  smell  burnt  straw ! 

ADELE. — Lord  in  Heaven  help  us! 

DURAND  (Empties  the  waterglass). — He  is  doing  so! — 
For  Annette  you  must  try  to  get  a  position  as  governess! 
Then  she  will  get  out  into  the  world  among  good  company. — 
When  the  insurance  is  paid  you  must  take  care  of  the  money. 
Do  not  be  stingy  but  dress  your  sisters  so  that  they  are  pre- 
sentable! Save  nothing  but  the  family  papers,  which  are  in 
my  desk, — middle  drawer.  Here  is  the  key. — The  Policy  you 
have — (Smoke  is  seen  to  break  through  the  ceiling)  Soon  it 
is  done!  In  a  moment  the  bell  at  St.  Francois  will  ring! — 
Promise  me  one  thing. — Never  mention  this  to  your  sister! 
It  would  only  disturb  their  peace  through  life.  (He  sits  by 
the  table).  One  more  matter:  never  say  anything  evil  about 
your  mother !  Her  picture  is  also  in  the  desk — I  never  showed 
you  that,  because  it  was  quite  enough  to  have  her  unseen 
spirit  in  the  home!  My  love  to  Therese,  tell  her  to  forgive 
me !  Don't  forget  that  you  must  give  her  the  best  when  you 
buy  clothes,  you  know  how  she  loves  those  things,  and  you 
know  what  her  weakness  might  lead  to ! — Tell  Annette — (A 
deep  toll  is  heard.  The  smoke  increases.  M.  Durand  drops 
his  head  on  his  hands  on  the  table). 

ADELE.— Fire !— Fire !— Father !— What  is  the  matter 
with  you!     You  will  burn! — 

DURAND. — (Lifts  his  head  and  pushes  away  the  water 
glass  with  a  meaning  gesture). 

ADELE. — You  have — taken — poison ! 

DURAND. — (Nodding  assent).  Have  you  the  insurance 
policy? — Tell  Therese — and  Annette —  (His  head  falls  down 
again.    Another  toll;  noise  and  voices  outside). 

Curtain. 

184 


The  DRAMATIST 

FACING    DEATH 
The  Acme  of  Indefinite  Drama. 

By  far  the  gravest  f?aw  in  Strindberg's  sketch  is  the  fact 
tliat  he  has  made  it  impossible  for  either  the  reader  or  the 
spectator  to  interpret  his  meanings  with  any  definite  security. 
V/e  are  never  just  certain  of  his  thought  and  many  are  the  mo- 
ments of  absolute  obscurity.  Scenes  I  and  II  have  very  slight 
purpose.  They  are  not  properly  dramatized.  The  characters 
are  obviously  set  upon  the  stage  to  TELL  us  certain  past  and 
present  domestic  conditions.  Scene  III  repeats  much  that  is 
attempted  in  Scene  I — the  financial  stringency  of  the  house- 
hold— and  Antonio,  the  new  character,  is  of  no  real  service  to 
the  main  conflict. 

Why  is  the  son  of  the  American  alluded  to?  What  has  his 
insult  to  Therese  got  to  do  with  the  Play?  If  v/e  were  already 
informed  of  the  relation  between  Antonio  and  Therese,  there 
might  be  a  slight  trickle  of  dramatic  interest  but  even  that 
would  be  extraneous  and  foreign  to  the  real  Play  v/hich  is  to 
develop  later.  The  old  man's  veiled  threat  misleads  the  audi- 
tor. It  promises  a  Conflict  between  Durand  and  Antonio.  But 
this  fizzles  out. 

Antonio's  question  about  Durand's  nationality  is  purely  me- 
chanical. The  Plot  does  not  call  for  it.  Antonio  has  no  possi- 
ble motive  for  asking  it.  The  only  conceivable  use,  even,  is 
the  retaliation  that  Therese  makes,  when  she  gives  her  father 
the  lie,  later  on. 

In  Scene  IV  we  have  another  incoherent  reference  to  an 
affair  between  Antonio  and  Therese.  We  never  know  what 
this  affair  has  been.  We  are  permitted  to  guess  that  he  has 
ruined  the  girl.  But  has  this  any  possible  connection  with  the 
Playlet?  If  it  had,  its  utter  vagueness  would  destroy  the  sense 
as  far  as  dramatic  definiteness  is  concerned.  For  Drama  is 
definite ! 

Scene  VI  is  no  less  inconsequent.  The  kissing  incident, 
the  lie  about  it  and  the  threatened  duel  are  surely  items  of  an- 
other Play.  They  serve  no  purpose  here.  We  now  see  the 
hollow  utility  of  the  reference  to  Durand's  nationality.  The- 
rese slaps  back  at  him.  Of  course  the  defense  of  the  dead 
mother  is  pertinent,  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  hatch  up  the 
daughter's  seduction  to  bring  this  to  the  surface. 

Scene  VII  is  merely  an  extension  of  the  spurious  matter  in 
VI.  The  old  man's  failing  senses  do  not  enter  into  the  Prob- 
lem of  the  Play  proper.  It  can  hardly  be  advanced  as  a  motive 
for  the  old  man's  suicide. 

The  Play  might  well  begin  with  Scene  VIII  and  all  that 
has  gone  before  contains  nothing  that  could  not  be  woven  into 
this  dialog  with  alacrity.  But  even  this  Scene  lacks  dramati- 
zation.    There   are   two   Plot   ingredients   that   are   carelessly 

185 


The  DRAMATIST 

omitted.  The  first  is  the  fact  that  the  father  has  poison  in  the 
glass  which  he  is  about  to  take.  This  would  illuminate  every 
reference  to  death  and  suicide  made  by  the  old  man.  The  sec- 
ond is  the  fact  that  he  has  set  a  candle  in  the  house  where  its 
flame  will  slowly  start  a  blaze  that  will  sweep  the  entire  pre- 
mises. This  would  give  a  dramatic  force  to  every  allusion  to 
life  insurance,  fire  or  provision  for  Durand's  helpless  daugh- 
ters. 

"There  burns  a  candle  in  this  house,"  is  too  miserably  in- 
definite to  create  the  required  suspense.  The  audience  must 
not  only  know — they  must  SEE  the  poison  as  well  as  the 
burning  candle !  Just  think,  a  moment,  how  the  actual  flame 
creeping  along  the  roof  of  the  building  would  intensify  the 
interest  in  all  the  old  man's  vague  inferences !  Think  what  the 
added  significance  would  be  of  the  odor  of  burning  straw ! 

The  latter  part  of  Scene  VIII  becomes  highly  dramatized 
because  at  great  expense  the  Conditions  of  the  Conflict  have 
finally  been  ground  into  us.  The  old  man's  hidden  inferences 
are  very  affecting.  Scene  IX  sustains  the  same  uncanny  mood 
until  it  rambles  off  onto  the  story  of  his  life.  This  obviously 
belongs  at  the  beginning  of  a  play. 

We  have  purposely  omitted  a  digest  of  the  Play's  purpose 
until  the  end  of  our  criticism  to  aid  the  reader  in  determining 
the  same  for  himself.  Little  idea  of  central  motif  can  be 
gleaned  from  a  study  of  the  first  seven  Scenes.  The  nucleus 
of  the  sketch  is  as  follows : 

A  father  has  been  a  silent  martyr  to  the  legacy  of  lies 
passed  down  by  his  deceased  wife.  He  finally  refutes  this 
blasphemy  by  sacrificing  his  life  to  provide  for  his  children. 

Or  to  present  it  in  the  form  of  a  syllogizm,  it  is : 

Problem : 

1.  A  father  has  been  maligned  for  extravagance. 

2.  He  sacrifices  life  to  provide  for  his  children. 

3.  The   blasphemy  is   refuted. 

How  would  we  set  about  to  dramatize  this  story?  The 
truest  guide  we  can  offer  is  as  follows:  Place  the  Plot  upon 
the  motion  picture  reel  of  your  imagination.  Cast  the  differ- 
ent views  upon  the  screen  in  their  proper  order  and  merely  add 
such  words  as  are  essential  to  a  clear  interpretation  of  the 
passing  picture.  Where  the  photograph  fails  to  convey  an 
adequate  meaning,  supply  a  word  or  two  and  the  Play  will 
build. 

By  this  test  you  will  find  a  host  of  Strindberg's  words  are 
absolutely  void  and  valueless.  The  audience  craves  the  chance 
to  drink  in  the  drama  with  their  eyes.  Verbal  decoration  mere- 
ly dulls  the  concept  when  it  arrests  the  imagination  of  the 

186 


The  DRAMATIST 

spectator  by  a  demand  on  his  conscious  thought  to  interpret 
the  meaning  of  a  chain  of  idle  speeches.  Moral:  Augment  the 
eye  by  the  ear ! 


187 


he  DRAMATIS 

TWO  THEATRICAL  SEASONS 


EVENTS  IN  PRODUCING  THEATRES 

1909-10     igio-ii 

Number  of  new  plays 102  89 

Number  of  new  musical  comedies 26  37 

Number  of  revived  plays 38  67 

Number  of  revived  musical  comedies 4  5 

Shakespearian  revivals 13  17 

Totals  183  215 

CLASSIFICATION  OF  PLAYS 

Serious  and  sentimental  dramas 37  27 

Melodramas    26  10 

Romantic  comedies    10  12 

Light  comedies   10  ig 

Tragedies 3  2 

Farces    16  19 

Totals  102  89 

SOURCES  OF  NEW  PLAYS 

Original  plays   74  65 

Adapted  from  foreign  plays 15  14 

Dramatized  from  novels  or  stories 13  10 

Totals  102  89 

NATIONALITY  OF  AUTHORS 

By  native  authors 63  62 

By  foreign  authors 39  27 

Totals 102  89 

NEW  MUSICAL  COMEDIES 

By  native  composers  18  26 

By  foreign  composers 8  11 

Totals 26  37 

In  this  table  we  find  fewer  New  Plays  for  191 1  but  a 
smaller  percentage  of  foreign  authors.  Light  Comedies  show 
the  biggest  increase,  Melodramas  the  heaviest  decline. 

188 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER 

B.  ANTHONY, 

ELditor 

Vol. 

III. 

EASTON. 

PA. 

No. 

1 

QUARTERLY 

1911 

OCTOBER 

Our  Third  Year 


It  is  with  sincere  gratitude  that  we  glance  back  over  our 
brief  career  and  contemplate  the  changes  wrought  in  this  pe- 
riod. We  are  not  bigoted  enough  to  believe  that  this  journal 
has  been  the  sole  cause  of  these  innovations  in  dramatic  tech- 
nic  but  we  are  flattered  by  the  fact  that  some  of  them  have 
been  voiced  by  no  other  organ  in  America. 

We  refer  more  particularly  to  our  boast  that  American 
craftsmen  are  the  keenest  in  the  world,  that  three-act  Plays 
would  come  to  be  the  divisional  standard  and  that  the  audi- 
ence must  invariably  be  given  the  key  to  the  Conflict. 

Our  first  claim  has  been  substantiated  by  a  recent  contract 
for  the  French  rights  to  an  American  masterpiece  made  by 
Sarah  Bernhardt.  She  will  play  the  leading  role  herself  and 
stage  it  in  her  own  theatre.  The  Play  is  Eugene  Walter's 
"The  Easiest  Way." 

When  we  started  advocating  three  acts  as  the  normal  di- 
vision of  a  Play  a  loud  protest  greeted  this  doctrine.  Glance 
over  the  list  of  current  productions  and  you  will  find  three  acts 
the  rule  and  four  the  rare  exception.  The  same  is  even  more 
true  of  the  unproduced  plays  to  come. 

The  same  exception  was  taken  to  our  plea  that  the  author 
must  cunningly  convey  to  the  audience  his  impending  Conflict. 
And  the  best  drama  in  New  York  today  is  a  confirmation  of 
this  theory.  "The  Woman"  extracts  every  essence  of  effect- 
iveness out  of  its  dramatic  possibilities  by  frankly  confiding 
the  complications  and  relying  solely  upon  skill  in  solution  for 
suspense. 

And  so  runs  the  world.  The  analyst  sees  these  laws  before 
the  adept  grasps  and  employs  them  as  working  forms  and  prin- 
ciples. Imagination  idealizes  before  the  world  realizes.  The 
laws  of  drama  are  fast  and  immutable.  In  the  infancy  of  this 
art  it  is  difficult  to  perceive  them.  All  have  been  utilized,  but 
not  in  the  richest  arrangement  for  supreme  harmony.  How 
can  we  gain  a  glimpse  of  the  perfect,  then,  save  through  the 
eye  of  the  idealist? 

189 


The  DRAMATIST 

When  the  playwright  treats  a  contemporary  theme  by  an 
appeal  to  the  fundamental  emotions  of  mankind,  employing  all 
the  cardinal  principles  of  Play  construction,  then,  and  not  un- 
til then,  will  we  approach  the  perfect  drama. 

THE    WOMAN. 
Real  Dramatic  Interest  Plus  Illusion. 

No  Play  of  the  new  season  attains  the  high  plane  of  the- 
atric effect  achieved  by  Wm.  C.  DeMille  in  "The  Woman."  It 
has  more  grip,  more  power  than  any  production  in  the  metro- 
polis. Point  after  point  is  scored  by  THE  AUDIENCE  who 
build  the  Play  which  the  author  has  cleverly  contrived  for 
their  reconstruction.  This  is  the  acme  of  dramaturgic  Art:  to 
permit  the  audience  to  feel  they  are  divining  the  Plot. 

At  the  drop  of  the  first  curtain  we  are  artfully  placed  in 
possession  of  secret  Plot  ingredients  that  urge  us  on  to  antici- 
pating the  entire  Play.  The  novice  would  erase  this  bold 
stroke  for  fear  of  revealing  too  much.  He  could  not  under- 
stand the  superior  craftsmanship  of  such  frankness.  But  each 
individual  auditor  is  made  to  believe  he  is  the  only  one  who 
knows.  This  subtle  hint  of  the  approaching  complicity  gen- 
erates suspense.  It  does  not  retard  it.  This  is  the  Play- 
wright's province.  Not  to  spring  sudden  surprises  from  the 
dark  cabinet  but  to  hint  his  mystery  and  then  bind  the  audi- 
tor's interest  by  the  magic  of  dramatic  disclosure. 

The  sophisticated  critic  will  quibble  over  lapses  of  logic 
in  this  model  of  Play  Construction,  but  let's  ask  the  audience 
about  them.  What  do  they  feel?  That  is  the  acid  test  of 
technology.  To  this  composite  crowd  ILLUSION  has  car- 
ried credulity.  For  the  mob  is  many  times  more  credulous 
than  the  individual.  Mr.  DeMille  understands  this  psychic 
phenomenon.  The  inwrapt  witness  of  his  work  ignores  the 
trifling  inconsistencies  and  finds  it  difficult  to  shake  off  the 
hypnosis  wrought  by  his  witchery. 

It  is  a  time-worn  tradition  of  dramatic  writing  that  the 
first  act  of  a  Play  must  be  given  over  to  "Exposition"  socalled ; 
that  the  Plot  cannot  start  with  the  revelation  of  Play  Condi- 
tions but  must  either  halt  or  limp  along  till  the  preliminaries 
"get  over."  This  is  one  of  the  most  flagrant  fallacies  of  Play 
Building.  It  has  marred  the  first  half  hour  of  "The  Woman" 
where  nothing  happens  pending  a  tiresome  TALK  of  "Exposi- 
tion." When  this  long  sleep  is  over  the  Plot  wakes  up  with  a 
start.  From  that  moment  on  the  interest  is  relentless.  The 
author  tells  his  story  through  the  alembic  of  dramatic  art.  His 
moral  is  impressed  but  not  preached.  The  soul  receives  the 
sermon,  not  the  ear.  We  behold  the  muck-raker  besmirched 
in  the  splash  of  his  own  foul  efforts.  And  this  is  an  eternal 
truth. 

igo 


The  DRAMATIST 

Here  is  a  domestic  product  that  foreign  technicians  may 
take  off  their  hats  to.  It  is  in  the  rigid  practice  of  sound  tech- 
nology that  the  American  must  excel  before  he  soars  off  into 
realms  of  uninterpretable  psychology. 

Of  course,  we  know  that  Belasco  is  to  blame  for  the  subtle 
stagecraft  that  gives  the  supreme  finish  to  this  production.  To 
him  and  to  Mr.  DeMille  the  dramatists  of  this  age  are  indebted 
for  an  excellent  model  to  pattern  after.  "The  Dramatist"  adds 
its  acknowledgment  of  gratitude.  "The  Woman"  is  an  em- 
bodiment of  nearly  every  positive  playwriting  principle  we 
have  been  preaching! 

THE    ARAB. 

A  Travelogue  in  Four  Views. 

Mr.  Edgar  Selwyn  has  demonstrated  much  photographic 
skill  but  little  dramatic  power  in  his  motion  picture  product 
of  the  streets  of  a  Syrian  village.  It  is  a  travelogue  in  four 
reels  called  acts.  There  is  no  central  idea  to  be  clothed  with 
Conflict,  no  Conflict  to  enlist  our  sympathies  and  beget  sus- 
pense, and  the  slight  tissue  of  interest  that  attaches  to  the 
plight  of  a  girl  besieged  by  savages  in  a  foreign  mission  is  so 
highly  colored  with  rom.antic  artifice  that  no  dramatic  realism 
attends  her  rescue. 

The  mating  of  a  half  reformed  Arab  with  the  cultured 
daughter  of  an  American  missionary  is  so  far  beyond  the 
founded  beliefs  of  the  audience  that  little  valid  Play  material 
can  come  of  it.  Foreign  tongues  and  oriental  politics  require 
too  much  interpretation  in  themselves  to  permit  a  fictitious 
tale  on  top  of  them.  The  cleverest  Plot  might  be  hopelessly 
obscured  by  this  futile  effort  to  launch  a  true  love  story  while 
introducing  strangers  and  a  strange  land. 

The  piece  is  the  usual  result  of  an  able  actor's  effort  to 
create  an  effective  role  for  himself.  It  compares  with  Soth- 
ern's  "The  Light  that  Lies  in  a  Woman's  Eyes."  If  Mr.  Sel- 
v/yn  wants  to  write  a  great  part  for  his  acting  talents  he  must 
first  cast  it  in  the  Conflict  that  molds  character.  Dramatic 
power  must  dominate  the  process  by  which  personal  portrayal 
is  produced. 

SPEED. 

A  Qualified  Comedy. 

From  the  significant  title  on  through  to  the  very  core  of  its 
theme,  this  Comedy  is  an  epoch  making  pattern  for  Plays  to 
com.e.  It  possesses  humor  without  rough-house  methods  and 
moral  without  unimpersonated  preachment.  It  is  essentially 
the  dramatic  gem  of  the  early  season. 

igi 


The  DRAMATIST 

Its  story  is  played  and  not  told. 

It  is  measured  for  the  sole  and  the  shoe  fits. 

It  gratifies  the  senses  only  to  lay  on  the  lash  that  smarts. 

It  is  a  Play  for  everyone,  not  the  intellectual  few. 

It  is  constructed  by  a  succession  of  structural  Scenes,  not 
sounds. 

Its  characters  are  not  motived  by  the  mechanical  needs  of 
the  author. 

It  is  founded  on  the  fundamental  law  of  humanity — paren- 
tal love. 

It  unfolds  before  our  eyes,  not  dating  back  into  bygone  his- 
tory. 

In  view  of  these  many  virtues  it  seems  a  sacrilege  to  men- 
tion the  minor  flaws  that  may  exist.  An  outline  of  the  Play 
proper  follows : 

A  modest  married  couple  become  inoculated  with  the  fever 
of  extravagance  and  rob  the  baby's  bank  to  inaugurate  a  life 
of  high  speed  which  ends  in  neglect  of  the  youngster. 

Mr.  Dodd  has  made  two  departures  from  his  plans  and 
specifications.  In  the  random  execution  of  his  theme  he  has 
needlessly  tarnished  the  mother  by  an  escapade  with  another 
man.  This  incident  does  not  contribute  to  the  main  Plot  and 
really  belongs  in  a  separate  story  of  moral  turpitude.  To 
round  off  the  sentimental  history  of  two  other  characters  in 
the  Play  he  has  thrown  in  a  love  story. 

Neither  of  these  excrescent  growths  belong  technically  to 
the  Play  proper.  The  first  is  a  surrender  to  the  temptation  for 
added  situation  even  at  the  expense  of  dramatic  disunity.  The 
second  is  a  concession  to  the  traditional  demand  for  sex  love 
interest.  This  tends  to  vitiate  the  true  theme  of  violated  pa- 
rental love. 

You  cannot  employ  all  the  primitive  laws  of  Nature,  Mr. 
Dodd.  Concentrate  on  the  one  physically  defined  by  your 
Plot.  Reserve  the  others  for  the  great  Plays  "The  Dramatist" 
predicts  you  are  destined  to  write  and  you  will  soon  attain  that 
ideal  we  have  so  patiently  been  preaching. 

THY    NEIGHBOR'S    WIFE. 
Even  the  Comedietta  Must  Have  Conflict. 

Here  is  the  gist  of  the  Play. 

Two  husbands  become  enamored  of  each  other's  wives. 
Their  spouses  affect  an  exchange  of  the  particular  attributes 
that  disenchant  their  fickle  mates  and  a  reconciliation  is  accom- 
plished. 

All  dramatic  analysts  from  Aristotle  to  Anthony  agree  that 
the  elemental  essence  of  drama  is  a  contention  of  opposing 
forces.    To  ignore  this  fundamental  law  simply  because  a  Play 

192 


The  DRAMATIST 

happens  to  assume  the  character  of  a  farce  is  a  serious  blun- 
der. A  prolonged  discussion  of  household  infelicities  does  not 
serve  as  a  substitute.  To  omit  all  semblance  of  Conflict  de- 
prives a  farce  of  dramatic  interest  just  as  finally  as  any  other 
form  of  drama. .  There  must  be  contest  of  some  sort.  And  in 
the  end  a  triumph  of  one  force  over  the  other. 

"Thy  Neighbor's  Wife"  has  an  overabundance  of  woe  and 
wail,  but  no  actual  symptoms  of  dramatic  strife.  The  estrange- 
ment between  the  two  couples  is  so  hollow  that  an  audience 
cannot  be  persuaded  to  accept  it  even  as  a  farcial  illusion.  And 
this  robs  the  character  of  reality.  It  is  the  element  of  strife 
that  creates  character.  Without  this  factor  the  portrayal  of 
personality  is  impossible.  The  people  of  this  Play,  therefore, 
never  for  a  moment  exist  even  in  the  make-believe  for  the  mo- 
tives that  actuate  them  are  transparently  the  mechanical  wires 
of  the  author. 

And  how  may  we  remedy  this  negative?  By  supplying  the 
absent  factor,  of  course.  An  entertaining  farce  could  be  manu- 
factured of  this  material  by  injecting  some  plausable  Conflict 
and  propounding  a  panacea.  For  the  real  Play  must  have 
something  to  say.  Some  solution  in  the  present  case  must  be 
offered  for  married  couples  temporarily  disenchanted. 

In  "The  Concert"  a  very  valid  remedy  is  recommended  in 
behavior  of  the  wife  who  allows  her  infant-genius  of  a  husband 
to  live  with  another  woman  long  enough  to  miss  the  motherly 
attention  his  able-minded  mate  administered.  By  strong  con- 
trast of  character  born  of  tangible  Conflict  these  people  spring 
to  life  in  the  composite  mind  of  the  audience. 

Suppose  Mr.  Elmer  Harris  had  pursued  a  like  policy.  Sup- 
pose that  instead  of  the  tame  divorce  a  double  elopement  were 
substituted,  giving  some  grounds  for  credulity.  Let  something 
happen.  Let  there  be  doubt  as  to  the  issue.  In  the  present 
manuscript  no  child  could  foster  the  remotest  shadow  of  sus- 
pense as  to  the  outcome. 

The  thing  that  Mr.  Harris  has  conceived  is  good  material. 
He  has  failed  to  inject  the  dramatic  germ.  The  test  of  his 
genius  would  be  dramatization  of  this  latent  energy.  He 
could  find  no  better  study  in  his  present  state  of  evolution  as 
a  dramatist. 

THE  WITNESS  FOR  THE  DEFENSE. 

Devoid  of  Human  Concern  and  Interest. 

The  difference  between  building  a  Play  to  embody  a  theme 
and  preaching  a  sermon  in  dialog  disguise  is  amply  examplified 
in  "Speed"  and  "The  Witness  for  the  Defense."  "Speed"  con- 
veys its  moral  through  dramatic  appeal  to  parental  instinct. 
"The   Witness   for   the    Defense"   advances   Ibsen's   "A   Wild 

193 


The  DRAMATIST 

Duck"  theory  that  the  truth  fiend  is  a  confirmed  mischief 
maker.  Mr.  A.  E.  W.  Mason  is  so  bent  on  propagating  his 
moral  that  he  fails  to  clothe  it  with  a  practicable  plot  founded 
on  the  infallible  basis  of  human  emotion. 

The  one  semblance  of  strife  in  the  piece  is  the  effort  of  a 
young  man's  relatives  to  dig  up  the  evidence  of  a  murder  for 
which  his  fiancee  has  been  tried  and  acquitted.  But  this  Con- 
flict carries  no  conviction.  We  know  the  murder  was  justi- 
fiable and  no  serious  doubts  are  entertained  as  to  the  young 
man's  attitude  when  he  learns  the  whole  truth.  The  dramatic 
force  of  the  Plot  hinges  entirely  on  this  one  event. 

A  more  serious  flaw  undermines  what  Action  might  be 
generated  out  of  this  situation.  The  audience  does  not  care ! 
Their  sympathies  are  not  involved.  The  boy  may  marry  the 
widow  or  chuck  her,  it's  no  odds  to  us.  Neither  candidate  for 
matrimony  awakens  the  slightest  solicitude  in  our  souls.  The 
slight  partiality  that  is  created  by  the  author  rather  inclines 
us  toward  his  villain  whom  he  has  intended  us  to  despise. 
There  is  no  homage  for  the  hero-elect. 

A  good  Play  might  be  built  of  this  dormant  material.  A 
Conflict  must  be  invented  of  sufficient  reality  to  enable  us  to 
take  sides  in  the  issue.  Without  this  appeal  to  partisanship 
there  is  little  possibility  of  conviction.  It  is  through  this  blind- 
ing sympathy  for  one  factor  in  the  combat  that  the  auditor  be- 
(Ccmes  thoroughly  controlled  by  illusion. 

•      •  ■    "         T  H  E     R  A  C  K . 

Deception  Mars  the  Big  Moment. 
This  is  the  Plot  in  a  nutshell. 

Problem. 

1.  A  husband  is  arraigned  for  the  murder  of  his  wife's 
lover. 

2.  A  third  party  confesses  to  the  crim.e. 

3.  The  husband  is  exonerated. 

The  second  clause  of  this  syllogism  is  the  mainspring  of 
Plot.  It  is  the  prime  Cause  out  of  which  the  entire  action 
takes  genesis.  At  a  glance  it  will  be  seen  that  the  second 
clause  is  in  no  way  identified  with  the  first  and  that  the  third 
is  not  a  product  of  the  other  two.  It  is  merely  a  chance  result 
of  the  second.  The  issue  is  not  joined.  The  whole  Play  hinges 
on  this  murder  but  in  the  end  the  crime  is  shown  to  be  no  part 
and  parcel  of  the  Conflict  proper  but  merely  a  biproduct  of 
history  connected  with  the  lover's  prior  escapades.  Mr.  Bu- 
chanan has  dodged  the  issue.  Instead  of  reaching  his  Conclu- 
sion by  a  legitimate  manipulation  of  his  own  materials  he  re- 
sorts to  the  lame  device  of  an  outside  source. 

194 


The  DRAMATIST 

And  this  flaw  is  accelerated  by  a  violation  of  the  oldest 
canon  known  in  dramatic  law.  "Thou  shalt  not  deceive  thy 
audience !"  Authors  may  trifle  with  an  audience  as  to  the 
eventual  outcome  of  Plot  but  we  are  unable  to  point  to  a  suc- 
cessful Play  on  record  that  deliberately  juggles  with  the  visi- 
ble event  to  the  degree  that  seeing  is  not  believing. 

The  husband  is  repeatedly  shown  to  be  lurking  about  the 
premises  where  the  lover  is  attempting  to  seduce  the  wife.  At 
the  critical  moment  the  wife's  cry  is  answered  by  a  vigorous 
knock  at  the  door  and  we  have  every  reason  to  believe  it  the 
husband!  We  see  two  shots  fired  just  outside  the  door  and 
the  lover  staggers  in  mortally  wounded.  The  positive  convic- 
tion is  imparted  that  the  husband  killed  him  for  this  is  the  line 
of  least  resistance  rightfully  indicated  for  the  spectator  to  con- 
struct by.  It  is  the  only  interpretation  in  keeping  with  Con- 
flict and  the  logical  course  for  the  man  to  take.  Any  attempt 
at  extraneous  surprise  at  this  point  constitutes  willful  decep- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  dramatist. 

To  be  sure  he  has  prepared  us  with  knowledge  of  a  third 
man's  presence  on  the  premises  but  he  is  not  presented  to  us 
in  the  attitude  of  malice  or  revenge  and  the  history  of  his 
grudge  against  the  libertine  is  so  miserably  obscured  by  a 
chaotic  ensemble  in  Act  I  that  nothing  really  crosses  the  foot- 
lights. Besides,  we  are  watching  one  Play  and  this  Conflict  is 
quite  another.  Keep  your  finger  on  the  trigger,  Mr.  Buchanan. 
You  have  a  live  topic  and  a  timely  one.  You  let  the  gun  go  off 
halfcocked  when  you  shot  that  wretch  and  converted  a  good 
Play  into  a  melodrama.  Your  chance  for  social  inquisition  in 
closer  Unity  with  theme  is  a  trial  for  divorce  and  not  murder. 
The  same  excellence  of  court  room  representation  devoted  to 
the  unjust  divorce  of  a  woman  whom  we  could  hold  sympathy 
for  would  make  a  better  Play. 

But  can  an  audience  have  faith  in  a  woman  who  professes 
to  love  her  husband  and  risks  incurring  his  everlasting  aliena- 
tion by  accompanying  a  moral  leper  to  a  disreputable  road 
house  for  the  ostensible  mission  of  reconciling  him  to  his 
estranged  wife?  And  if  she  were  so  rashly  imprudent  would 
she  consent  to  dine  and  wine  with  the  libertine  knowing  that 
the  other  guests  were  not  coming  and  that  the  bedroom  ad- 
joins on  the  left?  Is  this  the  stuff  that  sympathetic  heroines 
are   made  of? 

But  all  these  attributes  could  be  changed.  Adequate  Cause 
could  be  supplied  to  bring  about  the  identical  situations  and 
yet  retain  solicitude  for  the  young  wife  placed  in  this  predica- 
ment. By  shifting  the  motif  from  self-preservation  to  sex-love 
the  melodrama  might  become  a  Play  on  a  higher  plane  exploit- 
ing a  moral  of  pronounced  merit. 

195 


The  DRAMATIST 

A    MAN    OF    HONOR. 

The  Remarkable  Work  of  a  Rabbi. 
What  the  disciplined  mind  will  do  to  the  drama  is  well 
shown  by  the  arrival  of  Rabbi  Landman  after  a  brief  sys- 
tematic study  of  the  Science  of  Play  Construction.  He  has 
drawn  a  role  to  fit  one  of  our  best  actors  with  a  strong  bold 
stroke.  The  structure  is  much  more  consistent  logically  than 
the  average  work  of  the  professional  playwright  as  may  be 
seen  from  the  following  hypothesis. 

1.  A  judge's  son  has  embezzled  money  from  a  magnate. 

2.  The  magnate  uses  this  fact  to  hamper  justice. 

3.  Exposure  of  attempted  bribery  defeats  the  magnate. 

In  the  development  of  his  Plot  Dr.  Landman  has  intro- 
duced an  interesting  turn  of  affairs.  The  judge  is  ripe  for  po- 
litical promotion.  The  disgrace  of  his  son's  crime  will  blast 
this  hope.  But  the  father  determines  his  boy  must  suffer  the 
penalty.  A  strong  situation !  There  would  be  more  suspense, 
however,  if  the  author  were  to  direct  the  constructive  imagi- 
nation of  the  auditor  by  cleverly  implying  that  the  magnate's 
attempted  bribery  is  slipping  the  noose  about  his  own  neck. 
To  desert  the  audience  at  end  of  II  with  no  tangible  thread  to 
follow  is  bad  treatment.  To  make  the  judge  a  little  more  ener- 
getic in  the  matter  of  seeking  evidence  to  convict  the  scamp 
who  has  openly  attempted  bribery  would  add  strength  to  the 
leading  character. 

The  weakest  factor  in  the  Play  is  the  preacher's  attempt  to 
force  his  sermon  into  the  text.  He  has  a  burning  desire  to 
show  what  parental  neglect  may  lead  to.  The  idea  is  wedged 
into  the  Play  rather  than  an  integral  part  of  it.  The  author 
attempts  to  show  this  neglect  with  the  one  hand  and  with  the 
other  exercises  undue  restraint  to  prevent  a  parent's  sympa- 
thy. The  son  is  repeatedly  rebuffed  by  the  father.  But  the 
boy  does  not  hint  the  extremity  of  his  peril.  The  author  re- 
strains him  to  enhance  neglect.  It  might  be  hard  for  a  son  to 
tell  his  father  that  he  had  stolen  money,  but  the  exigency  of 
the  situation  would  compel  him  to  hint  in  some  way  that  im- 
prisonment was  staring  him  in  the  face. 

The  theory  of  parental  neglect  rests  heavily  on  this  one 
incident.  There  are  other  touches  of  it  but  a  strong  effect  is 
attempted  at  the  end  of  Act  I  by  a  picture  of  the  boy  beating 
his  fists  against  the  door  of  the  stern  parent  who  has  locked 
him  out.  There  is  a  keen  lack  of  conviction  here.  The  boy  is 
an  abnormal  child  for  not  doing  what  the  average  creature 
would  do  under  the  circumstances.  The  father  is  not  amena- 
ble for  neglecting  something  he  does  not  know  exists.  The 
naked  hand  of  the  dramatist  is  revealed. 

ig6 


The  DRAMATIST 

In  the  big  scene  in  II,  therefore,  when  the  lad  turns  on  his 
father  and  charges  him  with  filial  default,  the  point  does  not 
carry.  The  soul  of  the  spectator  is  not  so  much  impressed 
with  the  indifference  of  the  parent  as  with  the  untimely  death 
of  a  loving  mother.  We  regret  that  she  could  not  have  lived 
to  properly  rear  her  son.  But  even  this  is  aside  from  the  trend 
of  theme  which  is  to  show  the  unfailing  retribution  attending 
corruption  and  bribe.  The  duty  of  parent  to  child  would  bet- 
ter fit  another  Conflict.  The  attempt  to  kill  two  birds  with  a 
single  stone  results  in  maiming  either.  Let  the  lesson  teach 
this  law,  Mr.  Landman,  that  Conflict  is  ever  paramount  and 
to  launch  an  idea  dramatically  you  must  conceive  a  struggle 
consistent  with  your  theme. 

THE    REAL    THING. 
A  Most  Unreal  Dramatic  Document. 

Problem. 

1.  A  wife  mollycoddles  her  children  to  the  neglect  of  her 
husband. 

2.  A  sister  discovers  the  husband's  attachment  for  a 
young  girl. 

3.  She  teaches  the  wife  to  reclaim  her  husband  by  disci- 
plining her  children. 

This  is  the  hypothesis  of  the  main  Plot  evidently  intended 
by  the  author.  It  is  badly  confuddled  by  two  branch  Plots 
that  hopelessly  bury  any  distinct  outline  of  the  author's  pur- 
pose. 

Plot  number  two  threatens  to  become  the  real  Play.  It 
provides  the  sentiment  role  for  Henrietta  Crosman  who  plays 
the  leading  part.  No  doubt  the  effort  to  create  this  acting 
opportunity  for  a  star  accounts  for  hitching  on  extraneous 
matter  in  this  crude  fashion.  An  attempt  is  made  to  pad  up 
a  complication  out  of  the  fact  that  the  sister's  old  lover  pro- 
poses to  her  before  learning  that  she  is  a  widow.  She  thinks 
that  he  thinks  that  her  husband  still  lives.  She  learns  that  he 
has  learned  and  all  is  well.  A  flimsy  device  to  build  a  Play 
about  but  Miss  Crosman  relies  on  this  situation  for  her  biggest 
moment. 

The  third  Plot  is  a  step-plot  of  Plot  number  two.  The  hus- 
band of  Plot  number  one  is  jealous  of  the  lover  of  Plot  num- 
ber two  for  making  love  to  the  mother  of  the  mollycoddled 
kids.  This  is  only  a  momentary  aberration  of  the  dramatic 
conscience,  to  be  sure,  but  it  serves  as  an  excellent  example 
of  minor  disunity.  It  is  a  danger  signal  for  the  dramatist 
aimlessly  reeling  off  lines  without  dominant  dramatic  purpose. 

197 


The  DRAMATIST 

Temptations  are  ever  at  hand  for  the  imagination  that  can 
be  seduced  by  a  clever  situation.  An  indomitable  will  backed 
by  technical  discretion  must  reject  the  spurious  combinations 
that  beset  the  fertile  productive  mind. 

Catherine  Chisholm  Gushing,  the  author  of  this  Comedy, 
possesses  a  rare  gift  of  fluent  dialog  composition.  It  is  a  fac- 
ulty she  will  never  have  occasion  to  test  thoroughly  till  she  can 
build  a  Plot  worthy  of  such  embellishment.  In  the  abstract 
it  is  a  tendency  to  restrain  rather  than  encourage.  It  is  diffi- 
cut  to  appreciate  that  mere  talk  is  the  worst  of  all  barriers 
for  the  beginner.  This  is  painfully  apparent  in  two  v^hole 
acts  of  "The  Real  Thing."  These  depend  wholly  upon  clever 
conversation  of  characters  not  motivated  to  speak  Plot  parts. 

The  first  Act  contains  a  single  incident  of  dramatic  worth. 
The  husband  kisses  the  girl.  If  the  rest  of  the  main  Plot  could 
be  executed  by  real  drama  of  this  sort  the  Play  would  be  fully 
dramatized.  Throughout  the  rest  of  the  comedy  there  is  not 
a  solitary  instance  of  Plot  event.  All  is  TALKED  into  the 
audience.  After  talking  us  in  and  out  of  the  two  subordinate 
Plots  an  attempt  is  made  to  TALK  a  Conclusion  onto  the  frag- 
ment that  survives  of  main  issue.  But  this  is  not  really  accom- 
plished even  by  way  of  conversation.  We  are  left  to  presume 
that  all  will  be  well  now  that  wifie  drinks  claret  punch,  wears 
stylish  dresses  and  puts  her  kidlets  to  bed  with  the  chickens. 


SNOBS 

A  Farce  With  Foreign  Finish. 

Suppose  you  were  playing  checkers.  The  critical  moment 
arrives.  Your  partner  flashes  the  ace  of  spades  and  shouts: 
"The  game's  mine!"  That  would  be  equivalent  to  the  falla- 
cious reasoning  employed  in  the  Conclusion  of  "Snobs." 

A  newly  bequeathed  duke  loves  a  girl  who  doesn't  know 
of  his  title.  The  only  flaw  in  his  flirtation  is  the  lack  of  a  thrill 
sufficient  to  captivate  his  young  enchantress.  Thus  far  we 
have  a  straight  game  of  checkers,  you  see.  But  a  second  party 
insists  on  playing  poker.  He  swats  a  third  fellow  over  the 
head  with  a  cane  and  by  some  mistake  the  duke  is  charged 
with  the  assault.  The  missing  thrill  is  now  supplied  by  a  des- 
perate battle  in  which  the  duke  wrests  a  gun  from  the  officer 
who  is  about  to  shoot  him.  The  audience  is  requested  to  be- 
lieve they  are  still  watching  a  game  of  checkers. 

Does  this  rude  illustration  drive  home  the  absurdity  of 
trying  to  play  two  games  with  one  hand?  Here  is  the  widest 
gap  in  the  structural  framework  of  "Snobs."  The  Plot  dashes 
off  on  a  side  track  just  as  the  Play  is  pulling  into  the  terminal. 

The  Farce  has  one  merit.  It  starts  off  with  a  definite  fore- 
cast of  the  complications  that  might  follow.     The  first  Act  is 

198 


The  DRAMATIST 

shown,  not  TALKED.  But  nothing  comes  of  this  good  prom- 
ise. The  second  Act  is  the  crudest  kind  of  hotchpotch  teeming 
with  disunity  and  spineless  character  drawing.  The  only  possi- 
bility of  a  Play  is  in  the  rather  implausible  premises  set  forth 
in  Act  I. 

A  rich  satire  might  be  constructed  out  of  the  relations  of  a 
suddenly  enriched  milkman  to  a  snobbish  society  fop  who 
spurns  the  picklemaker's  daughter  destined  to  become  wife 
of  the  hero,  who  in  turn  employs  the  snob  as  a  financial  flun- 
key. This  is  the  legitimate  structure  that  might  be  fitted  to 
the  foundations  laid  in  Mr.  Bronson-Howard's  well  planned 
first  act. 

THE    NEST    EGG. 
Founded  on  a  Single  Thread  of  Novelty. 

How  far  a  little  touch  of  novelty  m^ay  go  toward  the  suc- 
cess of  a  Play  may  be  seen  in  "The  Nest  Egg."  Swamped  be- 
neath biplots  of  puppy  love  and  old-time  intrigue  this  clever 
note  of  satire  on  cold-storage-pure-food  conditions  wins  in  a 
few  minutes'  running.  The  real  Plot  consumes  but  one  min- 
ute of  the  first  act,  two  minutes  of  the  second  and  three  of  the 
third.  The  remaining  time  is  given  over  to  juvenile  capers  of 
a  very  commonplace  order. 

The  legitim.ate  story  of  the  Play  tells  of  a  spinster  who  in- 
scribed her  sentiments  on  an  egg.  The  egg  goes  to  cold  stor- 
age and  after  three  years  the  old  maid  is  summoned  as  chief 
witness  in  a  suit  against  the  culprits  who  preserved  it  over- 
time. The  elated  spinster  mistakes  this  message  from  a  pure 
food  fanatic  for  the  call  of  cupid.  Her  clever  testimony  wins 
the  case,  however,  and  consummates  her  original  purpose  of 
matrimony. 

Any  ordinary  dreamer  might  build  optimistic  anticipation 
of  the  unique  entertainment  to  be  derived  from  the  actual  de- 
velopment and  unfolding  of  this  story  from  the  first  incident 
of  lettering  the  egg  down  to  the  final  episode  of  culminating 
connubiality. 

But  what  does  the  amateur  author  offer  us? 

Nine  tenths  of  the  performance  is  taken  up  with  irrelevant 
manor  Plot  conveying  four  distinct  and  separate  stories  extra- 
neous to  the  main  Play. 

From  the  beginning  no  one  could  guess  the  purpose  of  the 
composition.  We  are  introduced  with  much  obvious  effort 
and  talk  to  the  vicissitudes  of  a  young  girl  whose  father  insists 
upon  marrying  her  to  a  wealthy  bumpkin. 

Joined  to  this  tangent  is  a  second  offshoot  of  a  college  girl's 
romance  with  the  first  girl's  brother. 

199 


The  DRAMATIST 

Plot  number  three  is  the  mysterious  intervention  of  an  ad- 
venturess of  the  old  school  stripe,  who  bolts  in  upon  the  heart 
affairs  of  the  other  couples  and  mixes  motives  generally. 

The  fourth  is  the  mercenary  intrigue  to  rob  the  spinster  of 
her  hen-house  which  has  suddenly  loomed  into  large  value. 

None  of  these  spurious  episodes  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  advancement  of  the  main  issue.  The  author  has  cleverly 
dove-tailed  them  into  an  actable  vehicle,  to  be  sure,  but  to  la- 
bel such  chaotic  incongruity  a  Play  would  be  analytic  perjury 
in  the  first  degree. 

The  substance  of  a  light  comedy  of  extremely  novel  charac- 
ter is  conveyed  in  the  remnants  of  main  Plot  that  are  scattered 
through  the  manuscript.  The  spinster  is  a  fresh,  life-like  type 
with  a  gift  of  bright  dialog  that  would  do  credit  to  a  techni- 
cally perfect  reconstruction  of  the  Play's  hypothesis. 

And  here  we  have  painful  evidence  of  the  starved  condi- 
tions of  the  contemporary  stage.  Sixteen  weeks  was  accorded 
this  little  piece  at  the  Bijou  Theatre  in  New  York  City!  De- 
spite the  encumbrance  this  slender  thread  of  live  novelty  won 
substantial  box-office  benefits  and  brought  forth  a  clamor  of 
praise  from  the  critics  famishing  for  want  of  unadulterated 
dramatic  nourishment. 

A    MILLION. 

A  Farce  with  a  Philosophy. 

It  sounds  like  a  paradox  to  say  that  a  farce  has  a  philoso- 
phy and  that  it  actually  thrills,  but  this  is  the  fact  in  "A  Mil- 
lion" now  being  tried  on  the  road  by  Henry  W.  Savage.  And 
what  a  rare  treat  in  this  new  season  of  horse-play  productions ! 
The  theme  delivers  a  satirical  slap  at  the  city  sleuths  whose 
eyes  are  blinded  by  their  own  veritable  adroitness.  The  Play 
holds  the  audience  in  breathless  suspense  over  the  simple  de- 
vice of  a  lost  blue  blouse  containing  a  prize  winning  lottery 
ticket.  The  piece  makes  no  pretense  at  intellectual  uplift  but 
its  dramatic  merit  well  deserves  the  closest  study  of  the  dra- 
matist. The  few  flaws  that  mar  the  road  try  outs  will  doubt- 
less be  effaced  in  rehearsal.  The  American  version  is  by  Leo 
Dietrichstein,  who  in  addition  to  rebuilding  the  Plot  has  con- 
verted vulgar  French  farce  into  fairly  refined  English.  And 
this  is  a  tremendous  task ! 

MAGGIE    PEPPER. 

The    Decline    of    Mr.    Klein. 

Save  for  the  subtle  selection  of  popular  Play  materials 
there  is  little  in  this  melodrama  to  identify  it  with  such  Plays 
as  "The  Gamblers"  or  even  "The  Third  Degree."    And  under 

200 


The  DRAMATIST 

the  circumstances  of  production  it  is  difficult  to  determine 
whether  the  audience  is  not  applauding  Miss  Rose  Stahl  for 
what  she  has  been  in  another  role.  Both  earlier  dramas  may 
boast  of  an  underlying  idea.  "Maggie  Pepper"  appeals  to  the 
littlest,  meanest  and  shallowest  of  human  emotions  only. 

But  Mr.  Klein's  decline  is  evidently  not  intentional.  In  an 
article  recently  written  for  the  New  York  "Sun"  he  regrets 
the  cruelty  of  the  playgoing  public  and  declares  the  day  of 
romanticism  is  past.  Surely  no  piece  on  earth  is  calculated  to 
test  this  truth  better  than  this  playwright's  latest  product.  If  it 
can  draw  after  the  public  learns  that  Rose  Stahl  in  "Maggie" 
is  not  the  Rose  Stahl  of  several  seasons  past,  Mr.  Klein  will  be 
disputing  his  journalism  by  his  own  playwriting.  For  this 
Play  is  the  quintessence  of  romanticized  junk. 

But  the  sad  side  of  the  situation  is  the  fact  that  a  writer  of 
means  will  stoop  to  such  sordid  stufif  after  proving  himself 
capable  of  about  the  best  work  on  the  American  stage.  And 
all  in  hopeless  pursuit  of  the  mere  mercenary. 

The  two  Plots  of  "Maggie  Pepper"  are  as  follows : 

1.  A  shop  girl  wins  the  heart  of  her  rich  employer  against 

the  courtship  of  a  stylish  sweetheart. 

2.  A  shop  girl  is  bled  and  blackmailed  by  the  parents  of  a 

child  she  endeavors  to  preserve  from  their  crimi- 
nal influence. 

In  the  first  Plot  the  crudest  sort  of  dime  novel  envy  char- 
acterizes the  courtship  of  the  sweetheart;  aided  and  abetted 
by  her  preposterous  uncle.  Poor  "Maggie"  is  batted  all  over 
the  field  in  G.  minor  and  wears  the  shreds  of  her  splintered 
heart  on  her  sleeve.  She  is  fired  twice  by  express  command  of 
the  author  even  against  the  wishes  of  the  firm  that  employs 
her.  The  common  sense  of  the  audience  is  not  reckoned  with. 
For  some  unknown  reason  "Maggie"  disdains  the  wealthy  em- 
ployer and  seeks  to  reconcile  him  to  his  jealous  sweetheart. 
The  author  finds  it  necessary  to  put  a  bullet  through  his  hero 
before  "Mag"  will  surrender  her  celibacy.  His  drunken  pro- 
posal almost  fetches  her,  but  the  author's  brutality  does  the 
trick.  She  at  once  takes  sides  with  the  spineless  hero  who  has 
been  so  cruelly  treated  by  the  man  who  brought  him  to  imagi- 
nary life. 

The  second  Plot  seems  an  attempt  to  link  "Deep  Purple" 
coloring  with  cheap  sentimentality  of  the  old  school.  It  is 
with  the  most  obvious  effort  that  this  spurious  story  gets 
a-going  in  the  first  act  of  the  legitimate  Play.  The  machinery 
of  one  Plot  has  to  be  stopped  abruptly  whilst  the  other  starts 
a  competitive  spin.    But  the  second  Plot  has  the  biggest  buzz 

201 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

saw  for  the  blackmailer  cuts  his  way  into  the  presence  of  un- 
happy lovers  everytime  there  is  any  prospect  of  a  peaceful 
moment.  He  is  no  respecter  of  millionaire's  offices  and  young 
ladies'  private  apartments.    He  busts  right  in. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  second  Play  mars  and  retards 
the  force  of  the  first,  but  it  is  only  on  the  rarest  occasion  that 
even  a  spot  of  drama  is  demonstrated  in  either  Plot  worth  pre- 
serving. In  the  last  moments  of  the  second  scene  of  the  third 
act  there  is  a  suggestion  for  a  theme  that  might  be  availed  by 
a  man  of  Mr.  Klein's  ability.  The  sheer  efficiency  of  this  pa- 
thetic shop  girl  fits  her  for  the  office  of  mother  to  the  booby- 
ish  inebriate.  A  strong  satire  on  class  distinction  might  be 
constructed  out  of  this  suggestion.  The  Play  bears  some  such 
message  as  it  is.  But  any  interpretation  is  impossible  in  the 
chaotic  jumble  cheap  complications  dispensed. 

PUBLISHED    PLAYS. 

Three  Plays  by  Shaw.* 

The  Doctor's  Dilemma,  Getting  Married,  and  The  Showing- 
Up  of  Blanco  Posnet. 

Shaw  has  written  these  Essays  for  any  of  three  purposes! 
To  amuse  himself,  to  furnish  food  for  the  reading  public,  or 
to  be  performed  before  an  audience  of  strictly  mental  tempera- 
ments. Although  Drama  is  supposed  to  be  an  interpretation 
of  life  Shaw  finds  it  necessary  to  write  one  hundred  pages  of 
interpretation  for  a  forty  page  Playlet.  That  such  intellectual 
fodder  is  unfit  for  the  digestion  of  contemporary  audiences  is 
beyond  a  doubt.  Fad  and  vanity  may  muster  a  limited  attend- 
ance to  such  offerings  but  there  is  little  actual  interest  in  them 
for  the  play  going  public. 

Few  men  on  earth  can  rival  Shaw  for  sustained  brilliance 
of  biting  sarcasm  but  for  young  writers  to  set  up  his  works 
as  models  would  be  the  uttermost  folly.  Of  the  better  brand 
of  drama  Mr.  Shaw  has  just  as  much  to  learn  as  many  novices 
at  least  if  we  are  to  judge  his  Art  by  his  later  specimens  of 
craftsmanship.  These  do  not  show  an  adequate  knowledge  of 
Play,  Logic,  Sequence,  Unity  or  Plot.  His  strong  qualifica- 
tions are  Scene  Structure,  Characterization,  and  Dialog.  All 
more  or  less  remote  from  their  functions  in  a  Play. 

THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

If  we  could  compress  the  first  twenty  pages  of  the  first  Act 
into  four  or  five,  at  most,  the  remaining  ten  would  be  drama. 
If  we  could  really  know  whether  the  young  Artist  is  married 

*Brentano's.    New  York.    Price  $1.50. 

202 


The  DRAMATIST 

to  his  wife  before  the  other  characters  bring  up  the  question 
there  would  be  dramatic  force  in  the  blow  he  aims  at  the  scan- 
dal mongers. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  widow's  second  marriage  in  the  in- 
terval following  Act  IV.  Nobody  really  knows  but  the  Au- 
thor, He  doesn't  supply  our  emotions  with  the  elements  of 
suspense.  He  seeks  to  surprise  us  in  the  stilly  darkness.  The 
Newspaper  man  is  a  clever  caricature  of  the  progressive  press- 
agent-highwa5mian,  but  he  is  no  factor  in  the  Play.  He  would 
fit  in  a  frame  by  himself  for  a  vaudeville  exhibition  more  ade- 
quately than  he  answers  here.  Ibsen  would  have  found  a  plot 
purpose  for  this  character.  He  would  have  employed  him  to 
advance  the  story.  Shaw  throws  him  in  for  the  Author's 
amusement 

There  is  no  logic  in  a  man's  asking  a  strange  married  wo- 
man to  act  as  hostess  at  his  stag  party  and  no  pretense  at  con- 
forming the  common  sense  situation  is  made.  A  highly  clever 
satire  on  the  futile  and  conflicting  theories  of  eminent  medical 
men  is  conceived  but  not  dramatized.  Shaw  has  a  definite 
purpose  but  betrays  an  indefinite  knowledge  for  executing  it 
in  dramatic  form.  "The  Doctor's  Dilemma"  is  tedious  dis- 
course in  FIVE  Acts. 

GETTING  MARRIED  and  THE  SHOWING-UP  OF 
BLANCO  POSNET. 

Not  much  can  be  said  of  either  of  the  other  Plays  in  this 
volume.  Both  are  perfumed  with  wit.  Even  through  the  stage 
directions  the  playful  pen  of  the  satirist  dances  nimbly.  But 
far  less  semblance  of  Drama  is  discernable.  His  intentions  are 
plain  to  the  thinking  reader  but  such  great  gulps  of  intellectual 
hard  tack  cannot  be  swallowed  by  any  composite  audience  un- 
der the  sun. 

The  day  may  come  when  dialoged  essay  will  supplant  ora- 
tory. But  to  grant  such  literature  a  place  in  power  with  drama 
is  quite  another  question.  The  orator  may  reach  the  intellect 
and  rouse  the  will  of  the  individual  capable  of  auto-suggestion. 
But  the  ideal  drama  may  transform  the  souls  of  the  multitude 
by  the  spell  of  the  playbuilder's  art. 

"The  Dramatist"  is  for  DRAMA,  here,  now  and  for  all 
time ! 

THREE     PLAYS     BY     BRIEUX 

MATERNITY. 
By  a  Modem  French  Problem  Playwright. 

In  a  volume  of  three  Plays  by  Brieux*  this  drama  appears 
in  two  versions.     These  are  helpful  study  for  the  novitiate. 

*Brentano's,  New  York,  $1.50. 

203 


The  DRAMATIST 

They  show  the  power  to  be  gained  by  adjusted  Sequence,  re- 
duction of  cast  and  creation  of  new  character  demanded  by 
Plot.  It  is  a  privileged  peep  into  the  workshop  of  the  drama- 
tist. 

Of  course,  our  chief  interest  in  analysing  the  work  of  a 
member  of  the  French  Academy  is  his  comparative  progress  in 
the  Science  of  Play  Construction.  In  a  word  his  theses  are 
more  vital  and  his  treatment  less  dramatic  than  our  best 
American  dramatists.  We  have  few  thinkers  among  our  dra- 
matic writers  who  would  attempt  such  advanced  themes.  But 
we  have  craftsmen  who  could  take  these  materials  ready-made 
and  interpret  them  v/ith  more  telling  force. 

Brieux  falls  short  at  the  finale  just  where  we  most  crave 
conviction.  "Maternity"  is  capably  handled  in  Acts  I  and  II 
save  for  an  occasional  lack  of  motive  in  the  Dialog.  The  au- 
thor compels  his  characters  to  speak,  at  times,  instead  of  en- 
dowing them  with  compulsion.  He  occasionally  permits  them 
to  talk  to  themselves.  But  there  is  no  mistaking  the  power  of 
his  theme.  He  has  stripped  all  social  definitions  of  delicacy  to 
present  a  radical  phase  of  the  subject  of  propagation  of  the 
species.  There  is  little  doubt  of  the  selling  qualities  of  such  a 
raw  Conflict  theatrically  speaking.  Setting  aside  the  author's 
choice  of  subject,  then,  let  us  see  where  he  has  forsaken  his  art 
whilst  he  drives  his  pen  to  the  profit  of  pure  pamphleteering. 

The  main  story  of  "Maternity"  tells  of  a  woman  whose 
"race-suicide"  husband  forces  two  degenerate  children  upon 
her  in  the  fulfillment  of  his  professed  reform.  The  Conflict 
rises  to  a  climax  of  actual  rape  committed  by  brute  force  in  the 
exercise  of  a  drunken  husband's  "rights." 

Joined  to  this  idea  is  a  secondary  story  of  the  wife's 
younger  sister  who  has  been  ruined  by  an  outsider  we  never 
meet.  The  confession  of  her  downfall  is  one  of  the  most 
potent  scenes  in  the  book.  Despite  its  telling  force,  however, 
and  its  conformity  to  theme,  it  does  not  reinforce  the  main 
idea  for  the  reason  that  it  is  not  joined.  The  author  would  do 
well  to  choose  between  the  two  plays  and  then  concentrate. 

In  Act  III  he  deserts  both  Plots.  Whatever  Conclusion  is 
reached  is  proclaimed  from  the  lecture  platform  and  not  the 
stage.  A  court  room  scene  is  represented.  In  the  absence  of 
true  dramatization  this  becomes  nothing  more  than  a  mock 
trial.  The  author  sets  forth  numerous  instances  of  mere  life  in 
unison  with  his  theme  and  tells  us  the  fate  of  both  our  hero- 
ines. But  the  Conflict  proper  has  ceased  to  exist.  Drama 
sleeps  while  thematic  testimony  flourishes.  The  Play  that  the 
audience  wants  to  see  has  transpired  somewhere  else  and  we 
get  nothing  but  the  crumbs  from  the  conversation  of  the  wit- 
nesses. 

204 


The DRAMATIS       T 

This  does  not  mean  that  an  actual  representation  of  the 
wife's  abortion  is  advised  even  though  the  author's  Plot  de- 
mands that  the  audience  receive  this  evidence  in  tangible  form. 
Treatment  similar  to  the  best  manipulation  of  exceedingly 
delicate  items  in  Acts  I  and  II  would  sufficiently  visualize  the 
denouement  of  the  intended  Play  without  an  actual  clinic. 
The  stage  must  deal  with  just  such  problems,  some  day. 
America  is  evidently  not  ready  for  them.  Another  Play  in  this 
printed  volume  deals  with  the  dangers  of  Syphilis.  It  is  called 
"Damaged  Goods."  The  third  Play  is  "The  Three  Daughters 
of  M.  Dupont." 

By  Request. 

MID -CHANNEL.* 

Far  Inferior  to  "The  Thunderbolt." 

An  indifferent  husband  countenances  the  flirtations  of  his 
middle-aged  wife  with  younger  admirers.  The  couple  quarrel 
and  separate.  She  has  an  affair  with  a  worthless  youth  whom 
she  does  not  really  love  and  the  husband  takes  up  with  a  sport- 
ing widow.  After  a  surfeit  of  this  sensuality  a  reconciliation  is 
attempted.  The  husband  admits  his  infidelity  and  wrings  a 
like  confession  from  the  wife.  Out  of  conventional  rectitude 
he  insists  that  she  marry  her  paramour.  Finding  this  course 
impossible  she  kills  herself. 

The  foregoing  is  an  abstract  synopsis  of  Mr.  Pinero's  Play. 
It  is  moral  because  the  conclusion  does  not  exalt  the  illicit 
relation.  But  it  is  not  helpful.  It  offers  no  new  solution  of  the 
debasing  marital  problem  it  presents.  Perhaps  the  best  that 
can  be  said  of  the  Play  is  that  it  handles  incidents  of  salacious 
sex  profligacy  with  antiseptic  delicacy. 

The  chief  characters  are  devoid  of  sympathetic  appeal  for 
the  reason  that  the  Conflict  is  not  founded  upon  a  vital  Law  of 
life.  It  may  have  been  the  author's  intention  to  involve  the 
love  of  the  sexes,  but  a  careful  analysis  of  the  structure  reveals 
no  evidence  of  genuine  affection.  This  emotion  is  depicted 
only  in  the  negative. 

The  motives  of  the  principals  are  obviously  worked  by  the 
wires  of  the  dramatist.  They  are  not  the  logical  effect  of 
Cause.  The  author  desires  them  to  do  certain  stunts  for  his 
own  convenience  and  fails  to  involve  their  motives  in  the  Plot. 

Another  grave  deficit  is  Dramatization.  Few  of  the  essen- 
tial incidents  of  the  Play  take  place  on  the  stage.  One  of  the 
vital  events  of  Plot  occurs  in  Italy  and  has  to  be  imported  by 
means  of  subsequent  TALK  between  the  principals.  There  is 
but  one  important  Scene  really  enacted — the  attempted  recon- 

"W.  H.  Baker  &  Co.,  Boston,  50c. 

205 


The  DRAMATIST 

ciliation  of  the  marital  degenerates.  The  wife's  confession  al- 
most rivals  Bernstein  for  similar  situations  in  both  "The 
Thief"  and  "Israel."  The  final  suicide  is  not  clearly  presented- 
It  is  established  by  after  allusion  with  no  definite  visual  evi- 
dence to  confirm  the  imagination  of  the  audience. 

DOUBLE    CROSS. 
Withholds  the  Secret  of  Suspense. 

In  the  January  igii  issue  we  analyzed  a  skit  called  "Inter- 
viewed" which  appeared  in  the  November  igio  "Smart  Set" 
magazine.  "Double  Cross"  appears  in  the  August  igii  issue 
of  the  same  magazine  written  by  the  same  author,  Roi  Cooper 
Megrue.  No  better  illustration  of  the  invisible  shade  between 
fiction  and  drama  could  well  be  contrived. 

And  the  problem  is  well  worth  weighing,  for  here  we  have 
abstract  dialog  that  bears  every  similarity  to  dramatic  diction 
save  for  the  one  technical  point.  Instead  of  wasting  such  com- 
position on  mere  magazine  space  this  author  might  be  drawing 
handsome  theatrical  royalties,  "What  is  this  absent  item  of 
dramatic  interest? 

Suspense  for  the  reader  is  superior  knowledge  withheld 
from  him.  Suspense  for  the  theatregoer  is  superior  knowledge 
imparted  to  him  but  withheld  from  one  or  more  of  the  charac- 
ters on  the  stage.  Now  what  superior  knowledge  is  withheld 
from  the  audience  in  this  skit  that  should  have  been  merely  the 
ignorance  of  one  of  the  characters  on  the  stage? 

The  cardinal  fact  that  the  highwayman  is  a  telegraph 
operator  himself. 

Mr.  Megrue  undoubtedly  thought  he  was  enhancing  the 
thrill  by  reserving  this  secret  for  the  final  touch.  But  think  for 
a  m.oment  how  lame  the  present  suspense  might  seem  com- 
pared v/ith  the  subtle  action  obtained  by  our  knowing  all  along 
that  the  poor  station  agent  is  being  taken  in.  Suppose  by  sil- 
ent gesture  we  ascertain  that  the  robber  is  interpreting  the 
telegraphic  dispatch  which  the  agent  pretends  to  be  sending  to 
avert  a  wreck.    Suspense  is  increased  a  thousandfold  I 

But  do  not  carry  this  theory  to  excess.  Do  not  understand 
us  to  say  that  every  item  of  Plot  should  be  baldly  exposed  to 
the  audience.  We  need  not  know,  for  instance,  that  the  mes- 
sage is  a  call  for  help.  We  merely  see  that  the  hold-up  man 
understands  it.  It  is  time  enough  when  help  materializes. 
How  rapidly  the  imagination  makes  the  reckoning!  "Now 
what  will  happen?  Will  the  burglar  return?  V/hat  wi'l  he  do 
to  them?"  And  the  acme  of  dramatic  art  is  attained.  The  dra- 
matist has  his  audience  thinking  the  way  he  wants  them  to 
think.     Letting  them  in  on  the  vital  secret  is  not  subtracting 

206 


The DRAMATIST 

from  the  climax  it  is  multiplying  tensity!  Master  this  tiny 
trick  of  theatrics  and  you  have  one  of  the  most  potent  princi- 
ples of  dramatization. 

DRAMATIC  LAWS  ARE  NOT  NEW. 

"If  any  one  place  in  a  continued  series,  moral  speeches,  say- 
ings, and  sentiments  well  framed,  he  will  not  produce  that 
which  is  the  work  of  Playwriting ;  but  that  will  be  much  more 
a  Play,  which  uses  these  things  as  subordinate,  and  which 
contains  a  fable  and  combination  of  incidents." 

ARISTOTLE,  440  B.  C. 

FACING    DEATH. 

Plan    for    Reconstruction. 

One  of  the  students  of  the  Institute  of  the  Drama  submits 
the  following  outline  for  a  closer  dramatization  of  Strindberg's 
one-act  Play  which  appears  in  full  in  the  July,  191 1  number. 

Plot. 

Durand  has  bought  candles  with  the  last  penny  of  house- 
hold funds.  His  daughters  denounce  his  extravagance.  They 
are  actually  in  need  of  bread.  What  use  are  the  candles?  He 
has  v/recked  the  family  fortune.  Their  dead  mother  told  them 
so.  He  asks  for  a  match.  They  begrudge  it  to  him.  He  re- 
m.inds  them  that  they  have  the  house  and  that  he  has  paid  off 
the  encumbrance  against  it.  They  retort  that  the  property  is 
unmarketable.  Durand  slyly  places  a  lighted  candle  near  some 
straw  in  the  attic  window.  A  storm  is  brewing.  He  cau- 
tions the  girls  to  put  out  the  kitchen  fire.  No  insurance  will 
be  paid  if  a  fire  breaks  out  from  that  source.  V/e  see  the 
flam.es  licking  the  roof!  He  gives  instructions  where  to  find 
the  fire  insurance  policy.  He  bids  them  all  farewell.  He  is 
going  away.  The  helpless  daughters  reproach  him  for  desert- 
ing them.  Their  mother  had  predicted  it  would  end  that  way. 
He  breaks  his  long  silence  and  refutes  the  legacy  of  lies  passed 
down  by  his  deceased  wife.  He  vaguely  implies  that  they  will 
be  provided  for.  He  asks  for  a  glass  of  water.  We  see  him 
mixing  a  tablet  v/hich  we  suspect  is  poison  from  his  broad 
hints  at  inviting  death.  The  fire  is  now  under  way.  Durand 
gulps  down  the  poison  greedily.  The  girls  discover  the  fire ! 
They  would  save  their  father  who  has  apparently  gone  to 
sleep.  He  is  dead !  They  repent  their  cruelty  to  him.  This  is 
the  journey  he  alluded  to!  The  fire  insurance  policy!  They 
rescue  it  from  the  flames !  They  realize  that  the  old  man  has 
thus  provided  for  them.    His  last  sacrifice  in  death ! 

207 


The  DRAMATIST 

Yes,  this  is  a  much  more  feasible  working  plan.  The  audi- 
ence receives  the  ingredients  of  dramatic  interest  in  better  Se- 
quence. Many  of  Strindberg's  original  lines  might  be  pre- 
served by  closer  application  and  motive. 

This  is  the  real  process  of  Playwriting.  Now  let  some  one 
continue  the  task  of  reconstruction  employing  the  above  syn- 
opsis and  redialog  the  skit  and  further  analysis  will  be  made  in 
the  January  1912  issue. 


^KEf^J)  us  the  names  0/  persons 

ij     interested  in    playWriting   and 

tae    will    reward    pour    efforts 

With     a     portrait     of    Shakesphere; 

something  entirely  neW. 

The  Dramatist, 

Eastorts  Pa. 


208 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER 

B.  ANTHONY, 

£.ditor 

Vol. 

III. 

EASTON. 

PA. 

No. 

2 

QUARTERLY 

1912 

JANUARY 

Our  Doctrines  Endorsed 


The  acceptation  of  the  principles  of  dramatic  technology  is 
advancing  by  leaps  and  bounds.  For  a  time  our  radical  doc- 
trines were  unsupported  by  current  Plays  and  by  the  critics. 
We  have  from  time  to  time  pointed  out  practical  examples  of 
successful  dram.a  that  embody  our  theories.  We  now  quote  a 
few  prominent  American  authorities  who  voice  our  views. 


CHARLES  FROKMAN: 


DAVID  BELASCO 


BRANDER  MATTHEWS 


WM.  A.  BRADY; 


AUGUSTUS  THOMAS 


CLAYTON  HAMILTON 


One  of  the  best  signs  of  the 
advance  in  modern  dramatic 
technic  is  the  disappearance 
of  the  sub-plot. 

A  good  rule  for  the  dramatist 
is  to  eliminate  everybody  he 
possibly  can.  In  this  way  do 
we  get  simplicity  and  direct- 
ness. 

A  Plot  must  deal  with  a 
struggle.  It  must  show  a 
clash  of  contending  desires. 

A  knowledge  of  the  drama  of 
the  past  will  teach  what 
ought  to  be  avoided  in  the 
drama  of  the  present. 

In  the  theatre  nothing  is  de- 
pendent upon  our  faculty  of 
visualization.  It  is  all  done 
for  us. 

Tell  your  story  to  the  eye.  for 
actions  speak  louder  than 
words:  —  This  has  become 
the  leading  principle  of  the 
best  dramatists. 

2og 


he  DRAM 

JOHN  CORBIN: 

HARTLEY  DAVIS: 


Thesis  plays  are  false  at  once 
to  Art  and  polemics. 


WILLIAM  C.  deMILLE: 


The  play  that  wins  is  the  one 
that  appeals  to  the  big  uni- 
versals  stirring  the  emotions 
that  most  of  us  have  in  com- 
mon. 

Build  your  pantomime  first, 
then  add  such  words  as  will 
help  the  picture. 

These  few  words  are  quoted  as  being  in  line  with  the  drift 
of  advanced  criticism  and  conviction.  It  is  significant  that 
they  happen  to  endorse  the  doctrines  you  have  repeatedly  read 
in  these  columns.  All  technic  is  founded  upon  basic  princi- 
ples inherited  from  the  past.  It  has  taken  centuries  to  develop 
the  art.  Each  age  amends  it  so  that  it  may  exercise  a  greater 
charm  for  the  contemporary  spectator.  In  theory,  we  cannot 
enlarge,  perceptibly,  upon  the  groundwork  laid  by  Aristotle. 
We  can  only  refine  his  rules  and  apply  them  more  closely  to 
the  Audience  we  collaborate  with. 

To  our  many  subscribers  who  send  us  extracts  from  va- 
rious journals  declaring  them  an  appropriation  of  our  ideas; 
we  address  the  foregoing  paragraph.  If  our  radical  beliefs  are 
being  copied.  Copy  away,  we  say!  The  bulk  of  our  know- 
ledge in  any  line  is  taken  on  trust  from  those  who  have  tested 
the  truth.  It  is  the  truth  we  are  after.  It  is  the  truth  we  are 
eternally  endeavoring  to  disseminate.  We  have  no  wish  to 
monopolize  it.    We  only  wish  to  see  it  applied. 

Those  who  conscientiously  quote  or  urge  our  doctrines, 
therefore,  are  promoting  the  avowed  policy  of  this  periodical. 
And  in  so  far  as  we  anticipate  the  newer  standards  to  which 
the  art  has  approached,  all  followers  must  imitate  if  they 
would  keep  pace  with  the  quickstep  of  progress. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GRIMM. 

A  Triumph  of  the  Two  Davids. 

Just  hov/  long  this  piece  would  last  without  a  Belasco  to 
stage  it  and  a  Warfield  to  act  it  is  a  problem  in  scientific  sales- 
manship. The  Dramatic  element  is  no  factor  in  this  calcula- 
tion. It  is  not  a  Play,  it  is  a  fad,  and  the  duration  of  its  run 
will  be  a  tribute  to  the  reputation  of  these  two  masters,  aided 
by  the  eternal  eagerness  for  a  peep  into  the  realm  of  spookdom 
— a  guess  at  the  riddle  of  the  universe.    This  combination  may 

210 


The DRAMATIST 

fill  the  Belasco  Theatre  for  weeks  to  come.  Its  popularity 
should  not  mislead  the  amateur.  It  is  not  a  safe  pattern  to 
follow.  One  such  novelty  is  enough.  The  combined  efficiency 
of  these  two  men  has  made  it  marketable  only  after  three  years' 
incessant  toil. 

We  have  said  that  it  is  not  a  Play.  What  then?  It  is  a 
public  seance  of  psychic  experiment  designed  to  represent  a 
popular  theory  of  spirit  phenomena.  It  is  virtually  devoid  of 
dramatic  illusion  even  in  momentary  spots.  For  Plays  cannot 
be  built  out  of  superstitions  that  are  rejected  by  the  great  mass 
of  people  constituting  the  theatre  audience.  A  good  entertain- 
ment is  possible  when  such  infinite  pains  are  employed.  But 
the  author  attempts  to  visualize  an  invisible  thing  which  most 
of  us  cannot  sanction  even  as  a  superstition.  No  dominant 
idea  or  moral  could  be  conveyed  by  such  a  structure.  It  must 
leave  the  audience  on  the  same  level  of  thought  where  it  finds 
them.  There  is  no  basis  of  credibility  to  lend  composite  con- 
viction. 

Apart  from  the  invalid  material  utilized  in  this  piece,  the 
technical  errors  are  fundamental.  One  of  the  most  radical  of 
these  is  a  failure  to  set  the  Conditions  of  the  Conflict  Squarely 
before  the  audience. 

Problem. 

Conditions:     Grimm  betroths  his  adopted  daughter  to  a 
libertine. 

Cause :     His  suffering  spirit  returns  to  apprise  her  of  his 
mistake. 

Conclusion :     She  is  governed  by  this  supernatural    mes- 
sage. 

These  conditions  call  for  our  knowledge  of  the  libertine. 
They  also  specify  that  Grimm  knows.  After  an  author  once 
determines  his  Conflict  he  has  no  choice  in  the  matter.  He 
must  follow  its  dictates  or  dismiss  the  Conflict.  Mr.  Belasco 
fails  to  do  this.  Instead  of  setting  out  with  the  true  facts  at 
beginning  of  his  Play  nothing  reaches  us  till  Peter  returns 
from  the  spirit  world.  He  is  innocent  of  having  committed 
any  wrong  but  still  he  returns  to  rectify  it.  He  is  going  to 
make  good  something  he  never  knew  to  be  bad.  We  are  told 
that  one  of  the  angels  whispers  this  scandal  to  Peter.  If  this 
is  to  be  the  case  surely  the  audience  should  know  about  it. 
There  is  no  art  in  withholding  from  us  what  is  going  to  hap- 
pen. It  is  the  manner  of  happening  that  should  be  the  sur- 
prise. For  we  pay  to  see  the  Play!  It  is  a  breach  of  good  faith 
to  report  it  as  happening  in  heaven. 


The  DRAMATIST 

How  much  more  effective  would  it  be  had  Peter  wilfully 
pledged  his  word  to  a  man  he  knew  to  be  corrupt.  His  spirit 
would  then  have  some  cause  for  post-mortem  reproach.  If 
Peter  and  the  audience  both  know  this  libertine's  past  how 
much  keener  is  our  interest  in  the  transmission  of  this  spirit 
message  to  the  innocent  girl.  We  then  share  the  suspense. 
As  it  is  we  are  held  for  surprise  under  the  misconception  that 
depriving  us  of  the  Plot  is  promoting  the  drama.  There  can 
be  no  suspense  if  the  elements  that  furnish  it  are  withheld. 

The  next  flagrant  error  is  the  theatrical  trickery  of  Peter's 
exit  to  spiritland  with  the  form  of  the  dead  child.  By  this 
time  the  child  has  ceased  to  be  an  integral  part  of  the  Plot. 
There  is  nothing  at  issue.  The  Dramatic  Conflict  has  expired. 
The  author  continues  his  Play  in  the  life  beyond  merely  to 
round  out  his  supernatural  episodes. 

The  treatment  of  this  extraneous  device  is  extremely 
poetic.  After  a  most  delicately  rendered  fantasy  of  the  young- 
ster's dream  of  Happyland,  he  dies.  Peter  picks  him  up  and 
the  two  depart  this  mundane  sphere.  The  Doctor  gasps  to  find 
no  child  on  the  sick  boy's  cot.  He  lifts  the  sheet  and ;  Presto ! 
We  have  a  deceased  duplicate  just  as  convincing  as  the  two 
Topsies  in  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 

But  we  have  said  very  little  of  the  virtues  in  this  remark- 
able product.  Some  of  the  comedy  built  upon  the  expectation 
of  Peter's  death  and  the  expectation  of  those  who  survive  him 
is  exquisitely  rich  and  perennially  human.  It  is  valid  because 
it  is  used  to  depict  the  progress  of  Plot.  The  Scene  that  ranks 
first  in  dramatic  power  is  the  spirit's  effort  to  warn  the  girl  not 
to  marry  the  leper  whom  the  mortal  Peter  had  picked  out  for 
her.  After  a  harrowing  struggle  the  ghost  finally  succeeds  in 
communicating  its  tardy  message  through  the  medium  of  the 
sick  child  whose  frail  spark  of  life  now  flickers  at  the  gate  of 
eternity.  The  force  of  this  Scene  almost  establishes  momen- 
tary illusion.  Its  tug  at  our  sympathies  is  extremely  potential. 
Absorbed  in  this  poor  soul's  vicissitudes  we  all  but  accept  the 
too  human  spectre  as  the  shade  of  a  departed  spirit. 

Taken  all  in  all,  Mr.  Belasco  has  pulled  off  the  impossible 
with  about  as  much  plausibility  as  any  living  playv/right  could 
lend  to  it.  To  imagine  what  the  dramatist  of  average  theatri- 
cal sagacity  would  do  with  this  elusive  subject  gives  rise  to  a 
suppressed  cachination  of  chuckles ! 

PASSERS-BY. 

A  Plot  That  Successfully  Preaches. 

Just  as  "The  Price"  exploits  the  narrowest  and  meanest 
convention  of  the  "fallen  woman,"  so  "Passers-by"  preaches 
the  noblest  and  ripest  sermon  of  altruism.    The  unusual  turn 

212 


The DRAM       A       T       I       S       T 

in  this  treatment  is  the  fact  that  a  woman  repudiates  this  con- 
vention, not  through  maudlin  sentimentahty  but  the  biggest 
and  fullest  sympathy  of  her  sex ;  the  maternal  instinct. 

Problem. 

Condition :   An  adulterer  is  betrothed  to  another  woman. 

Cause :   Her  maternal  instincts  are  aroused  by  his  unlawful 
child. 

Conclusion :   She  cancels  the  betrothal  to  unite  the  parents. 

Here  is  a  Plot  with  a  purpose.  The  author  feels  a  vigorous 
protest  against  a  convention  of  society  and  assails  it  in  a  spe- 
cific character-creating  Conflict  between  certain  human  be- 
ings. This  is  the  dramatic  way  of  doing  things.  It  is  the  only 
valid  means  of  preaching  in  a  Play.  The  Conflict  tells  the  tale. 
The  author  cannot  settle  a  problem  for  all  time  but  he  can  con- 
vey his  specific  experience  to  the  souls  of  his  spectators  in  a 
way  that  stores  the  subjective  mind  with  a  lesson  to  profit  by. 
Experience  is  the  best  teacher.  A  dramatic  proxy  is  the  near- 
est substitute.  Let  intellectual  amateurs  clamoring  for  uplift 
adopt  this  practical  means  of  dramatic  preachment.  Auditors 
who  take  flight  at  the  prospect  of  ethical  discourse  respond  un- 
consciously to  the  exalted  representation  of  their  latent  ideals 
on  the  stage. 

This  dramatized  awakening  of  the  altruism  that  sleeps  in 
the  worst  of  us  is  the  surest  appeal  after  all.  It  threatens  to 
become  the  fourth  and  mightiest  law  of  nature,  i.  Self.  2.  Sex. 
3.  Parentage.    4.  Altruism. 

"Passers-By"  leads  us  to  expect  a  Play  implied  in  that  title. 
In  reality,  those  who  stop  off  in  the  passing  are  mere  sidesteps 
to  Plot.  The  tramp  is  a  convenience  to  practice  the  hero's 
growing  virtues  on.  He  is  later  employed  to  turn  the  big  trick 
of  Plot  by  running  off  with  the  child.  The  child  is  believed 
kidnapped  and  the  dismay  of  the  unlawful  parents  visually  dis- 
closes the  adulterer  to  the  fiancee. 

The  'passing-by'  of  the  adulteress  is  entirely  too  casual. 
Things  do  not  happen  without  Cause  in  drama.  A  London 
fog  is  not  sufficient  reason  for  the  coming  of  this  girl  at  this 
particular  time  and  place.  Her  entrance  should  be  made  inevi- 
table for  the  sake  of  subconscious  credibility.  The  same  weak- 
ness tends  to  dispel  illusion  all  through  the  conduct  of  this 
character.  She  comes  to  her  former  lover's  home  because  the 
author  wills  her  to.  Her  rival  surrenders  the  man  too 
readily.  True,  she  is  actuated  by  the  second  premise,  named 
in  our  Problem  but  the  author  takes  her  beyond  this  motive, 
making  her  a  mere  servile  puppet  in  the  reconciliation  of  the 
other  pair. 

213 


The  DRAMATIST 

But  these  are  not  flagrant  deficiencies.  The  Play  is  pace- 
maker in  the  race  we  are  now  running  for  double-distilled,  one- 
story  drama.  The  poetic  tenderness  of  the  child's  appeal  to  us 
for  the  formal  alliance  of  its  own  parents  is  another  tribute  to 
the  dramatic  power  of  that  great  life  Principle,  the  third  law 
of  Nature. 

BOUGHT    AND    PAID    FOR. 
Success  Scored  by  the  Subsidiary  Story. 

Problem. 

1.  A  husband  demands  his  marital  rights  when  drunk. 

2.  The  wife  leaves  him  because  he  will  not  promise  to 
abstain. 

3.  The  separation  brings  them  to  a  reconciliation. 

This  is  the  broadest  possible  digest  of  "Bought  and  Paid 
For."  The  real  Conflict  of  the  Play  is  contained  in  the  above. 
The  striking  features  of  originality  however  are  merely  the  in- 
cidents in  the  chain  of  Cause  and  Effect  that  execute  this  Plot. 
The  title  itself  is  one  of  these  incidents.  It  does  not  constitute 
a  necessary  ingredient  in  the  Plot.  It  is  the  "punch"  depart- 
ment. 

Now  the  secret  of  the  Play's  success  is  quite  another  fac- 
tor. This  lies  in  the  "comic  relief"  hitched  on  the  main  Plot. 
Do  not  understand  us  to  minimize  the  merit  of  this  biproduct. 
It  is  even  worthy  of  separate  treatment  in  a  Plot  all  its  own. 
In  fact  the  prime  Conflict  is  highly  hackneyed.  It  is  far  in- 
ferior to  the  secondary  story.  Both  stories  are  cleverly  dove- 
tailed and  the  first  is  made  to  sustain  the  second.  This  struc- 
tural disunity  almost  defies  detection  in  the  playing,  as  will  be 
shov/n  in  the  following  Plot: 

A  financier  marries  a  telephone  girl  and  supports  her 
worthless  brother-in-law.  The  girl  leaves  her  husband  after  a 
brutal  assault,  virtually  constituting  a  rape.  In  order  to  regain 
his  position  the  brother-in-law  tricks  the  pair  into  a  reconcilia- 
tion. 

George  Broadhurst  is  a  trained  fun  builder  and  the  half- 
witted, selfish,  self-satisfied  imp  he  has  given  us  in  the  sub-plot 
of  this  production  is  one  of  the  surest  triumphs  in  his  long  list 
of  comedy  character  creations.  It  is  here  and  not  in  the  grip  of 
the  bought-and-paid-for  idea  that  his  new  Play  ranks  as  one 
of  the  artistic  and  commercial  successes  of  the  season. 

As  a  bold,  clear-cut  stroke  in  character  etching  this  comic 
type  compares  favorably  with  Pinero's  best  work.  And  it  bears 
the  added  charm  of  irresistible  humor  which  is  beyond 
Pinero's  reach.  Mr.  Broadhurst  is  wise  in  clinging  to  this 
brand  of  humor  in  which  he  excels. 

214 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

THE    PRICE. 

Technical  Massacre  and  Moral  Retrogression. 

If  the  world  were  run  on  the  moral  standard  advocated  by 
"The  Price"  the  tide  of  spiritual  progress  would  soon  turn  to- 
ward a  tendency  of  ethical  retrogression.  What  is  the  moral 
of  this  play?  Let  us  glance  at  the  logical  syllogism  of  its 
structure  for  a  reply. 

Problem. 

1.  A  girl  has  been  a  mistress  before  marriage  to  another. 

2.  The  diary  of  her  deceased  lover  exposes  this  fact. 

3.  Her  husband  deserts  her. 

(Her  husband  suspects  her  of  murder.) 

Wouldn't  the  psychological  inference  be:  There  is  no  sal- 
vation for  a  woman  who  does  likewise  and  conceals  her  sin? 
This  is  the  subconscious  lesson  taught  by  the  Play.  Is  it  a 
wholesome  one?  Wouldn't  history  lose  some  of  its  staunchest 
agents  for  righteousness  if  this  silly  scruple  had  condemned 
every  woman  with  a  stain  on  her  past?  It  is  the  antithesis  of 
the  regeneration  Play — It  is  the  degeneration  Play.  It  fosters 
the  doctrine  of  eternal  damnation  for  mistakes  of  the  past  over 
which  we  have  no  control.  Attention  is  called  to  it  here,  that 
writers  and  managers  may  avert  like  themes  in  choosing 
Plays  for  an  optimistic  public.  Its  moral  outrages  all  three 
primal  laws  of  nature;  Self,  Sex,  and  Parentage. 

So  much  for  the  ethics  of  this  Play.  What  about  its  tech- 
nic?  There  is  but  one  Pla}^  in  New  York  City  that  sur- 
passes it  for  trespassing  the  immutable  principles  of  Play  Con- 
struction. The  characters  are  continuously  operated  by  the 
brass  wires  of  the  author  and  some  of  them  never  breathe  a 
solitary  breath  of  dramatic  life.  They  merely  sniff  the  artifi- 
cial atmosphere  of  stageland.  Not  even  a  mask  of  motive  con- 
ceals the  author's  nude  and  ever  present  purpose.  The  manu- 
script teems  with  artifice  and  false  intent. 

The  most  glaring  flaw  in  this  Play  is  its  fallacious  syl- 
logismx.  The  second  premise  does  not  respond  to  the  first.  The 
tv.'in  Conclusions  are  supposed  to  spring  from  the  first  and 
second  premises.  The  first  Conclusion  is  an  arbitrary  product 
of  them.  But  there  is  no  basis  in  either  premise  for  the  sec- 
ondary Conclusion.  The  Play  might  much  more  logically  re- 
volve around  the  killing  of  the  wife's  first  lover,  so  far  as  any 
definite  trend  of  Plot  is  indicated  by  the  first  act. 

And  again,  the  central  premise  is  not  dramatized.  The 
diary  does  not  turn  up  as  a  result  of  Plot  Conflict.  It  is  drop- 
ped into  the  Play  by  the  extraneous  agency  of  the  first  lover's 

215 


The DRAMATIST 

widow  and  without  our  knowledge  of  her  intent.  Her  very 
presence  is  a  deliberate  stroke  of  the  author.  Both  husband 
and  v/ife  would  turn  her  out  if  their  wills  were  not  subordi- 
nated by  the  dramatist.  Mr.  Broadhurst  evidently  clings  to 
the  hard  and  fast  fallacy  that  a  surprise  in  the  avowed  purpose 
of  the  Play  is  good  Drama.  He  does  not  recognize  the  keener 
craftsmanship  of  letting  the  audience  know  WHAT  he  is 
about  and  confining  the  surprise  to  HOW  he  will  accomplish 
it. 

It  is  gratifying  to  note,  that  this  play  has  since  been  re- 
duced to  three  acts  and  a  happy  ending  substituted.  This  con- 
forms to  m.uch  of  our  criticizm  and  eliminates  the  two  false 
conclusions,  above  cited. 


A    SINGLE    MAN. 
Conflict  Subordinated  to  Character. 

When  an  actor's  eminence  may  be  relied  upon  to  draw  au- 
diences, the  Play  may  be  regarded  a  secondary  quantity.  This 
is  usually  the  case  with  Mr.  John  Drew,  whose  following  is 
thoroughly  organized.  His  present  vehicle  is  no  exception  to 
this  rule.  Interest  in  the  player  exceeds  interest  in  the  part 
and  the  Conflict  is  subordinated  to  the  leading  character  and 
to  the  man  who  plays  it. 

"A  Single  Man"  has  many  momentary  evidences  of  un- 
usual dramatic  skill  but  like  all  typical  drawing-room-drama  it 
is  essentially  artificial.  These  metallic  qualities,  however,  af- 
ford wider  opportunity  for  the  player  of  society  parts  and  for 
such  specializing  the  piece  serves  its  purpose.  It  is  unneces- 
sarily stretched  out  into  four  long  acts  by  the  obvious  inten- 
tion of  the  author  who  erects  false  barriers  to  keep  his  lovers 
separated.  Toward  the  end  this  futile  protraction  borders  on 
boredom. 

Problem. 

1.  A  bachelor  loves  a  young  girl  of  strenuous  spirits. 

2.  In  contrast  to  his  sedate  secretary  her  vivacity  palls. 

3.  He  marries  the  secretary. 

This  is  an  epitome  of  the  real  Plot.  Attached  to  or  sus- 
pended from  this  story  is  a  spurious  accompaniment  of  a  pre- 
posterous coquette's  brazen  courtship  of  the  single  gentleman. 
She  is  the  official  agent  of  the  author  and  has  no  valid  place  in 
the  cast.  Her  motive  is  his  motive  in  consequence  she  fails  to 
live  in  the  Play. 

216 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

A  dramatic  Conflict  has  but  two  contending  agencies.  Each 
side  may  have  hundreds  of  characters  to  fight  its  battles  but 
the  factions  still  remain  but  two.  The  coquette  above  men- 
tioned attempts  to  supply  a  third  factor  in  the  struggle  which, 
as  may  be  seen  from  our  Problem,  has  no  place  in  the  Plot. 
The  result  is  rank  disunity,  almost  to  the  brink  of  burlesque. 

MADAME     X. 
A  Whirlpool  of  Mother  Emotion. 

Although  there  are  only  three  emotional  principles  in  all 
the  plays  past,  present  and  possible  the  variations  of  these 
laws  of  Nature  are  as  endless  as  eternity. 

Madame  X  is  a  variant  of  one  of  these ;  the  love  of  a  mother 
for  her  child.  Her  love  does  not  draw  her  to  her  son.  In  this 
Plot  it  repels.  She  has  sunk  to  the  depths  of  depravity — but  her 
maternal  instinct  is  as  chaste  as  before.  It  prompts  her  to  de- 
m.onstrate  this  love  by  sparing  her  boy  the  shame  of  a  moth- 
er's degradation.  We  feel  the  sympathetic  wrench  at  our  heart- 
strings both  through  the  principle  of  parentage  that  pulls  and 
the  pride  that  repels.  It  is  peculiarly  employed  so  as  to  pro- 
duce both  action  and  reaction. 

Oscar  Wilde  achieved  this  same  result  in  "Lady  Winder- 
mere's Fan."  He  built  a  much  more  skillful  Plot  but  pitched 
his  appeal  in  a  lower  key.  "The  Music  Master"  relies  on  a 
like  racial  trait  when  father  and  daughter  are  separated  for  the 
technical  purpose  of  touching  the  parental  chord  in  our  souls. 
Here  are  three  time-tried  successes  all  based  on  the  third  law 
of  life.    Take  notice  dramatists !    Here  is  a  vital  precept ! 

And  the  marvellous  part  of  it  is ;  this  play  succeeds  in  spite 
of  its  technical  infirmities.  Unity  is  fairly  preserved.  But  a 
good  deal  of  French  triviality  and  irrelevance  survives  the 
translation.  The  rambling,  shambling  treatment  of  prelimi- 
nary Conditions  hinders  the  start  rather  than  gets  it  going. 
A  Prologue  of  utterly  worthless  history  tells  of  things  twenty 
years  prior  to  the  Play  and  the  same  period  is  reviewed  in 
TALK  after  the  Conflict  proper  is  opened.  This  could  all  be 
artistically  interwoven  as  incidental  in  other  Scenes.  Acts  I 
and  II  are  miserably  developed.  The  threads  of  Plot  merely 
drift  into  place. 

There  is  but  one  well  built  Scene  up  to  this  point.  It  is  the 
end  of  Act  I  where  the  blackguard  strives  to  wring  the  secret 
of  her  past  from  our  dope  dazed  heroine.  This  is  the  only  evi- 
dence of  actual  Play  Building  that  precedes  the  real  drama  of 
Act  III.  Now  we  have  induced  illusion  that  buries  all  sem- 
blance of  the  improbable  in  its  wake.  The  Play  makes  good 
on  the  whole  by  the  sheer  magnitude  of  maternal  love  in  this 
great  act.    It  is  a  whirlpool  of  mother  emotion! 

217 


The DRAMATIST 

And  here  is  a  glimpse  of  the  great  Drama  to  come.  Two 
v/ell  sustained  Acts  of  comparable  structure,  paving  the  way 
for  the  terrific  climax  in  III  would  make  this  Play  a  pattern 
of  technically  sound  melodrama.  Add  to  this  a  dominant  pur- 
pose or  teaching  and  the  ideal  Play  is  achieved. 


THE    ONLY    SON. 

Enough  Good  Stuff  for  a  Masterpiece. 

One  great  virtue  in  this  Play  is  the  fact  that  the  characters 
at  the  Conclusion  have  evolved  fifty  leagues  beyond  their  be- 
ginning. This  is  as  it  should  be.  The  process  of  evolution, 
however,  is  not  in  accord  with  the  customs  of  human  conduct. 

There  is  wealth  of  rich  material.  There  are  numerous  in- 
stances of  excellent  dramatic  treatment.  Scores  of  delicately 
clever  touches !  But  these  are  at  fault  in  the  very  fact  of  their 
extraneous  abundance.  They  are  not  contributing  to  that  one 
chain  of  events  known  as  a  Plot. 

But  if  all  the  spurious  elements  were  extracted  and  the  one 
direct  path  of  legitimate  Plot  pursued,  there  would  still  remain 
a  fundamental  weakness  to  repair  before  making  the  Play 
palatable.  This  is  the  instance  of  the  father  informing  his  chil- 
dren that  their  mother  has  been  unfaithful  to  him.  It  is 
not  only  loathsome  but  it  is  technically  wrong. 

The  father  has  no  motive  for  doing  this  hideous  thing. 
Such  a  parent  might  exist  but  in  a  Play  the  Cause  for  this  un- 
usual conduct  must  be  offered.  And  even  then,  the  dramatic 
way  to  bring  about  the  wife's  exposure  would  be  some  inci- 
dent whereby  the  awful  truth  is  inevitably  laid  bare.  It  should 
not  be  a  voluntary'  act  of  the  husband's  unless  the  Plot  called 
for  a  fiend  of  that  stripe. 

And  back  of  this  logical  flaw  is  the  fact  that  the  mother's 
sin  is  not  dramatized.  It  comes  to  us  in  the  form  of  tea-table 
gossip  confirmed  by  a  detective's  discovery  of  her  letters  writ- 
ten to  an  artist.  Miserable  management !  If  it  is  expedient  to 
introduce  this  atrocious  episode,  the  only  way  to  stamp  it 
upon  the  imagination  of  the  audience  would  be  to  visualize  the 
infidelity.  Mere  recitation  of  the  fact  fails  of  conviction.  The 
mother's  confirmation  of  the  sin  in  the  presence  of  her  children 
is  past  all  human  endurance.  It  so  shocks  the  sensations  that 
the  auditor  v/ill  repel  rather  than  suffer  the  thought  thereby 
dispelling  the  author's  intended  illusion.  But  there  is  much 
evidence  of  clever  craftsmanship  throughout  the  piece. 
Winchell  Smith  is  a  determined  writer.  It  looks  as  though 
nothing  could  deter  his  ultimate  success  as  a  dramatist. 

218 


The DRAMATIST 

THE    WIFE    DECIDES. 
A  Little  of  Everything. 

In  classifying  "The  Price"  we  said  there  was  but  one  worse 
specimen  of  Play  Construction  in  New  York.  This  is  the  one. 
Thomas  McKean  has  taken  no  chances  on  missing  the  popu- 
lar chord.  He  has  sounded  them  all.  In  three  long  acts  we 
have : — a  touch  of  Suffrage  and  Sociology ;  a  little  dash  of  Eu- 
genics ;  the  traditional  fat  man  counter-comedy ;  a  false  alarm 
of  burglars ;  the  girl  who  hopelessly  loves  a  married  man ;  the 
husband  who  chokes  his  wife  into  a  stage  picture ;  the  servants 
who  play  a  little  plot  of  their  own ;  a  girl  who  departs  this  life 
to  become  a  nun;  the  entire  cast  drift  to  Reno  for  a  divorce 
and  finally  husband  and  wife  are  reconciled. 

This  is  a  remarkable  compound  for  one  evening's  entertain- 
ment !  It  would  be  difficult  enough  to  adequately  accom- 
plish all  these  them.es  in  a  dozen  distinct  dramas.  But  Mr. 
McKean  has  endeavored  to  serve  them  up  at  one  sitting  with- 
out regard  to  rhyme  or  reason.  The  remotest  notion  of  a  har- 
mony between  parts  seems  never  to  have  dawned  upon  him. 
The  readiest  measure  for  the  discord  in  the  ten  topics  men- 
tioned above  is  a  statement  of  the  intended  Conflict. 

Problem. 

Condition :  A  wife  is  jealous  of  her  husband's  love  for  an 
unwelcome  child. 

Cause :  Her  lover  becomes  jealous  of  the  child  now  loved 
by  the  wife. 

Conclusion :   The  wife  and  husband  are  reconciled. 

This  is  a  syllabus  of  the  nearest  approach  to  a  sustained 
Plot.  If  the  author  had  been  able  to  SEE  this  nugget  buried 
beneath  the  mass  of  dross  in  his  manuscript,  he  might  have 
made  a  better  issue  of  it.  But  alas,  this  sense  of  Unity  is  the 
last  faculty  acquired  by  the  amateur.  A  score  of  first-class 
Play  ideas  lurk  in  the  shadow  of  this  juvenile  concept  of  a 
dramatic  com.position.  Of  all  these  undeveloped  possibilities 
the  plight  of  the  sweet  young  girl  who  enters  the  convent  is 
the  most  promising.  This  is  ignored  as  a  Plot  but  fastened  on 
as  a  disturbing  incident. 

It  is  a  mystery  why  such  mongrel  conglomerations  come 
to  Broadway.  Financial  lessons  do  not  seem  to  stem  the  tide 
of  undramatized  disaster.  There  is  little  profit  in  an  analysis 
of  such  inept  material.  Every  item  in  it  is  contempt  of  court 
and  an  attempt  to  follow  out  the  endless  instances  of  violated 
dramatic  law  would  consume  a  volume. 

2x9 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE    CONFESSION. 

A  Triphammer  Blow  at  the  Emotions. 

No  better  proof  of  the  elastic  susceptibilities  of  the  com- 
posite crowd  could  be  offered  than  its  acceptance  of  this  dou- 
ble-strength melodrama.  It  is  true  that  the  religious  persua- 
sion indicated  by  the  title  tends  to  invite  a  denomination 
whose  hearts  respond  to  the  specific  Catholic  Conflict.  This 
fact  secures  a  closer  accord  in  the  audience  but  disqualifies 
the  Play,  to  a  degree,  for  those  of  a  different  creed.  An  ap- 
peal to  a  class  is  safe  dramatic  traffic,  however,  when  its  fol- 
lowing is  so  uniformly  powerful.  It  is  only  where  an  elective 
subject  limits  its  auditors  to  the  few  that  the  selected  Conflict 
is  impracticable. 

"The  Confession"  is  weakest  in  its  murder  motive.  The 
Frenchman  acquires  his  cause  for  the  killing  outside  the  pre- 
sentation of  the  Play.  Plot  essentials  of  such  import  should 
not  only  be  introduced  in  the  action,  they  should  be  SEEN. 
For  want  of  this  cardinal  evidence  we  are  compelled  to  take 
the  author's  word  for  it.  An  author's  assertion  unbacked  by 
visual  interpretation  is  never  accepted  as  dramatic  fact.  See- 
ing is  believing. 

As  a  purely  religious  enterprise  the  Play  is  without  a  pur- 
pose, either  for  Catholic  or  Protestant.  It  cannot  save  the 
saved  and  it  cannot  convert  the  converted.  To  the  auditor 
who  rejects  the  sanctity  of  the  priest's  silence,  this  conduct 
constitutes  homicide  in  the  first  degree.  And  at  the  very  gate 
of  the  gallows  sustained  silence  makes  the  clergyman  a  mur- 
derer by  ecclesiastical  law. 

The  province  of  this  Play  is  entertainment  only.  But  it 
does  entertain.  Once  the  supposition  is  swallowed  that  the 
priest  cannot  divulge  the  text  of  a  confession,  even  the  Pro- 
testant submits  to  the  illusion  and  the  feelings  are  subjected 
to  triphammer  blows.  The  sympathies  are  drenched  by  con- 
flicting emotions.  No  opportunity  is  lost  for  stretching  out 
the  agony.  The  improbable  is  ever  present  but  cleverly  con- 
cealed by  the  exaggeration  of  melodramatic  appeal.  For  the 
contagion  of  the  crowd  is  terrific. 

THE     LITTLEST    REBEL. 

A  Big  Drama  with  a  Little  Star. 

That  "The  Littlest  Rebel"  makes  the  keenest  appeal  to  a 
fundamental  emotion  yet  staged  this  season  is  a  matter  of  mob 
psychology.  As  an  exponent  of  the  redeeming  power  of  par- 
ental instinct  it  ranks  with  "Madame  X"  and  "The  Music  Mas- 
ter." As  an  example  of  the  possibilities  of  a  childhood  drama 
it  might  be  classed  with  "Rebecca  of  Sunnybrook  Farm."    Far 

220 


The  DRAMATIST 

in  advance  of  any  of  these  recent  successes  is  its  dramatic 
reiteration  of  the  parental  motif  from  a  dozen  different  stand- 
points. 

This  law  of  the  parent  and  child  is  manifest  in  the  follow- 
ing manner: 

The  child's  grief  at  the  death  of  her  mother. 

The  infant  attitude  of  the  aged  slave  toward  his  master. 

The  rebel  spy  risking  his  life  to  visit  his  daughter. 

The  "Little  Rebel"  in  motherless  solitude  caring  for  her 
dolls. 

The  federal  Colonel  touched  by  her  resemblance  to  his  own 
little  daughter. 

The  child  innocently  betraying  her  father  to  the  agents  of 
death. 

The  child's  budging  the  fixed  purpose  of  General  Grant. 

A  nation  making  orphans  by  the  cruelties  of  war. 

All  of  these  emotional  touches  reach  the  soul  of  the  specta- 
tor v/ith  involuntary  grip.  It  is  here  that  the  Play  makes  a 
powerful  bid  for  patronage.  The  child  herself  is  the  most  fas- 
cinating agency  of  appeal.  Her  infant  personality  haunts  the 
subconscious  mind  of  the  auditor  long  after  the  Play  is  for- 
gotten. What  more  potent  medium  of  publicity  could  the 
manager  desire? 

Unfortunately  Mr.  Peple  has  not  halted  here.  Through 
som.e  oversight  or  miscalculation,  the  maternal  instinct  has  not 
seemed  big  enough  for  an  evening's  entertainment  and  the 
absurdities  of  a  court-martial  and  sham  battle  are  thrown  in 
for  full  measure.  Outside  circumstances  of  no  small  interest 
in  themselves  are  hitched  on  to  the  Conclusion  of  the  child 
conflict. 

Edward  Peple  is  one  of  the  country's  coming  playwrights, 
but  the  sooner  he  learns  to  SEE  his  subject  the  better  he  will 
be  able  to  define  the  relation  of  the  parts  to  the  whole  and 
pursue  the  dramatic  process  of  elimination. 

Problem. 

1.  A  spy  is  betrayed  by  his  motherless  daughter, 

2.  His  death  would  make  the  child  an  utter  orphan. 

3.  The  captor  brings  his  nation  to  relent. 

This  is  the  only  normal  syllogism  that  would  harmonize 
the  various  strands  of  Conflict  and  retain  the  highest  moral 
taught  by  all.  The  time  is  near  at  hand  when  managers  will 
decline  a  Play  that  cannot  pay  its  way  with  a  sustained  devel- 
opment of  ONE  complete  Plot.  Even  the  commercial  power 
of  this  principle  is  highly  scientific,  when  applied  to  the  best 
definition  of  modern  drama.     Concentrate! 

221 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       1ST 

The  straight  and  simple  course  is  the  easiest  to  pursue 
and  the  only  one  that  will  result  in  double  distilled  drama.  It 
seems  so  easy  to  the  untrained  mind  to  go  out  and  gather  ma- 
terials for  Plot  complications  rather  than  develop  them  from 
within. 

By  Request. 

SEVEN    DAYS. 

Capital  Rough  house  Farce. 

Reference  has  been  made  to  this  Play  in  an  earlier  number. 
At  the  special  request  of  numerous  subscribers  we  analyze 
more  in  detail. 

"Seven  Days"  is  one  of  those  seven  year  occurrences  of  the 
"Charley's  Aunt"  species  that  wins  out  of  the  compelling 
antics  of  the  Actors  as  much  as  by  the  consistent  Cause  sup- 
porting the  frolic  as  a  whole. 

Owing  to  the  intermittent  attainment  of  success  the  pat- 
tern is  not  as  safe  to  follow  as  the  more  staple  product  of  le- 
gitimate comedy.  It  can  be  recommended  only  to  Authors 
possessing  an  overflow  of  this  spontaneous  spirit  of  hilarity. 
It  is  a  form  of  entertainment  so  highly  artificial  that  little  pro- 
fit can  avail  the  analysis  of  dramatic  principle  involved  and 
violated. 

In  a  general  way  it  might  be  advised  that  some  slight  pre- 
text be  ascribed  the  innum.erable  exits  and  entrances,  that  the 
Plot  be  less  scattered  and  the  main  issue  more  direct  and  that 
sufficient  motive  be  given  the  characters  to  account  for  their 
behaviour  in  a  more  normal  and  less  capricious  fashion. 

By  Request. 
SHORE    ACRES. 

Ahead  of  Its  Time. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  review  one  of  the  Plays  of  the  past 
that  so  nearly  anticipated  the  great  revolution  in  technical  ten- 
dencies. Few  dramas  of  the  old  school  would  hold  their  own 
with  modern  audiences  as  does  this  wonderful  piece  of  crafts- 
manship. 

Armed  with  an  idea  the  author  gets  it  over  the  footlights 
with  more  emotional  appeal  and  less  claptrap  than  any  drama- 
tist of  his  age  save  Oscar  Wilde.  The  pull  on  the  sympathies 
is  terrific.  Ibsen  sounded  loftier  themes  and  exploited  more 
advanced  philosophy,  but  not  one  of  his  Plays  holds  a  candle 
to  "Shore  Acres"  for  downright  grip  of  the  fundamental  feel- 
ings of  American  audiences.  If  Hearne  were  writing  to-day 
with  a  technic  as  far  ahead  of  the  times  as  was  the  art  he 
employed  in  the  eighties  he  would  have  no  rival  to  fear  in 
present  day  plajrwrights. 

222 


The  DRAMATIST 

His  flaws  are  few.  He  even  eliminated  soliloquy.  Lack  of 
clarity  in  Conflict  is  the  chief  fault.  But  this  is  a  popular  af- 
fliction with  modern  structure.  His  exaggerated  character 
drawing  is  a  remnant  of  the  times.  The  skill  with  which  the 
main  story  is  dovetailed  into  the  town  lot  boom  is  a  Plot  build- 
ing model  for  all  time. 

The  fact  that  the  father's  brother  once  loved  the  former's 
wife  should  be  etched  into  the  foreground  of  the  Play.  If  the 
audience  knew  that  he  was  fighting  for  the  daughter  of  the 
woman  he  once  loved  we  need  not  rely  entirely  on  talk  when 
the  item  is  introduced  to  enhance  situation  in  the  light  house 
scene.  But  this,  too,  was  good  playwriting  in  its  day.  And 
Heme  heads  the  list  of  early  American  dramatists. 


PUBLISHED  PLAYS. 

EMBERS.* 

Five  Dramas  of  Discussion. 

Mr.  Middleton  prepares  a  symbolic  five  course  feast  but  in- 
vites only  such  intellectual  individuals  as  are  equal  to  the  gas- 
tronomic task.  The  Conflict  is  purely  psychological  in  each 
instance  and  is  not  translated  into  the  language  of  the  theatre 
by  m.eans  of  the  visual. 

To  a  great  extent  the  events  treated  have  taken  place  off 
stage  and  come  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  reported  occurrence. 
They  do  not  take  place  here  and  now.  It  is  impossible  to  cre- 
ate composite  illusion  by  this  process. 

Hearsay  is  weak  and  feeble  evidence  for  the  audience  com- 
pared with  actual  stage  happenings  which  they  can  drink  in 
with  their  eyes.  The  one  depends  upon  voluntary  attention  of 
the  individual  auditor  who  is  required  to  transpose  dialog  into 
thought.  The  other  arrests  the  involuntary  interest  of  the 
composite  spectator  who  instantly  accepts  the  pictured 
thought  as  illusion. 

But  Mr.  Middleton  frankly  states  "each  Play  is  the  epitome 
of  a  larger  drama  which  is  suggested  in  the  background."  This 
is  equivalent  to  admitting  that  each  is  an  inspiration  in  the 
echo.  Ibsen  pursued  the  reverse  of  this  theory.  He  wrote  the 
larger  drama  and  reflected  the  lesser  one  in  the  past.  But  the 
art  has  advanced  since  then. 

Modern  dramatists  are  demonstrating  that  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  found  your  Cause  in  the  past  nor  your  Conclusion  in 
the  future.  The  entire  Play  in  these  ideal  instances  begins 
with  the  curtain,  culminates  with  the  clash  of  contending 
forces  and  ends  with  the  triumph. 

*Henry  Holt  &  Co..  New  York.     Price  $1.35. 

223 


The  DRAMATIST 

We  recommend  "Embers"  for  the  student  of  Playwriting. 
It  is  an  unusual  offering,  crowded  with  beautiful  concepts  and 
crowned  by  delicate  touches  of  sentiment  and  character. 
Every  real  author  who  reads  the  book  will  conceive  innumera- 
ble Plot  possibilities..  The  five  Playlets  are  "The  Failures," 
"The  Gargoyle,"  "In  His  House,"  "Madonna"  and  "The  Man 
Masterful." 

THE  PLAYBOY  OF  THE  WESTERN 
WORLD.* 

Confounding  Drama  with  Pastoral  Poetry. 

Beginning  with  its  cumbrous  title  nearly  every  step  in  the 
construction  of  this  piece  is  radically  untechnic.  The  author 
appears  to  have  little  dramatic  instinct  and  in  failing  to  SEE 
his  Conflict  he  has  failed  miserably  in  interpreting  it  to  us. 
His  intentions  were  as  follows: 

Problem. 

1.  A  boy  wins  a  girl  on  the  rumor  of  patricide. 

2.  She  finds  that  this  rumor  is  false. 

3.  Her  love  is  disillusioned. 

The  gravest  flaw  in  this  structure  is  the  false  premise  for 
affection.  We  are  required  to  accept  the  obsolete  point  of 
view  of  an  extremely  simple  and  superstitious  folk  to  the  ef- 
fect that  a  girl  would  deem  it  heroic  for  a  boy  to  defy  the  law 
and  kill  his  father.  This  is  the  germ  of  the  drama.  If  a  com- 
petent dramatist  were  to  attempt  such  a  theme  he  could  hardly 
get  away  with  it  even  without  the  handicap  of  poetry  and  over- 
worked words. 

The  next  serious  blunder  is  a  failure  to  set  the  Conditions 
truthfully  before  the  audience.  Our  Problem  calls  for  the 
"rumor  of  patricide."  Nothing  is  confided  to  the  audience  that 
shows  this  is  a  rumor.  We  are  gulled  into  believing  it,  as  are 
the  characters  in  the  Play.  The  author  has  not  provided  for 
our  superior  knowledge;  the  only  treatment  that  spells  SUS- 
PENSE. 

On  top  of  these  fundamental  errors  is  a  distortion  of  Unity 
that  only  the  amateur  can  abide.  The  legitimate  Conflict  is 
seduced  into  many  stray  paths. 

At  first  it  is  a  widow  who  will  strive  for  the  hero's  hand. 
Again  this  dame  is  bribed  by  a  rival  to  win  the  hero  away 
from  the  heroine.  In  a  third  Plot  she  accepts  a  bribe  to  aid 
the  hero  in  winning  another.  The  fourth  is  the  drunken 
father's  determination  to  wed  his  daughter  to  a  rival  swain  at 

*John  W.  Luce  &  Co.,  Boston.    Price  $1.00. 

224 


The  DRAMATIST 

once.  All  these  spurious  spurts  of  Plot  tend  to  dilute  the  main 
Conflict  which  is  a  watery  semblance  at  best.  It  is  hard  to 
teach  the  beginner  that  Plot  complication  must  arise  from 
within — not  without. 

Yeats  declares  this  to  be  the  most  original  piece  of  stage 
literature  since  Elizabethan  times.  If  this  is  true,  its  origi- 
nality means  retrogression  not  progress.  The  dramatist  who 
ignores  the  literary  merit  of  his  product  will  write  the  truest 
Plays.  Plays  want  popularity  for  a  time,  not  eternity.  Time 
will  banish  the  best  of  them  by  the  technical  and  mechanical 
innovation  of  a  decade. 


LOVELY     PEGGY.* 

Four  Fragmentary  Conflicts. 

This  is  hardly  a  Play.  It  is  written  by  Prof.  Jack  Craw- 
ford, of  Yale  University,  who  has  merely  rendered  an  imita- 
tion of  the  Elizabethan  drama.  It  implies  a  prior  knowledge 
of  theatrical  history  and  therefore  restricts  its  auditors  to  that 
selected  few.  Four  fragments  of  Conflicts  paddle  about  for 
self  preservation  but  no  one  of  them  actually  survives. 

1.  Which  actress  will  Sir  Charles  patronize,  Peg  or  Bel- 
lany? 

2.  Which  will  obtain  Peggy,  Sir  Charles  or  Garrick? 

3.  Which  v/ill  obtain  Garrick,  Violette  or  Peggy? 

4.  V/hich  will  win  the  audience,  Sir  Charles  or  Peggy? 

There  would  be  little  technical  profit  in  a  discussion  of  the 
endless  errors  in  these  four  diverse  Conflicts.  Charles  Froh- 
man  is  adequate  in  his  advice  to  young  authors  to  thoroughly 
exhaust  the  main  Conflict,  not  to  pad  out  the  evening's  enter- 
tainment by  resorting  to  the  old  device  of  sub-plot.  In  order 
to  demonstrate  this  application  of  the  law  of  Unity  suppose 
we  construct  an  hypothesis  that  would  offer  the  best  opportu- 
nity for  dramatization  in  this  dormant  material.  Plot  number 
two  is  probably  the  likeliest. 

Suppose  Sir  Charles  captivates  Peg  Woffington  by  the 
splendor  of  his  wealth  and  title.  Garrick  truly  loves  the  girl 
but  she  spurns  him  in  his  poverty.  Inspired  by  the  hope  of 
winning  her,  Garrick  rises  rapidly  to  fame  and  affluence.  At 
the  crisis  of  this  Conflict  Garrick  is  pitted  against  Sir  Charles. 
He  outranks  the  nobleman  on  all  counts — fame,  power,  popu- 
larity and  personality.  Peggy  is  incidentally  won  in  the 
battle. 

*Yale  University  Press,  New  Haven,  Conn.     Price  $1.25. 

225 


The  DRAMATIST 

This  synopsis  is  not  offered  as  a  scenario  for  revision.  It 
illustrates  the  operation  necessary  to  convert  "Lovely  Peggy" 
into  a  dramatic  document.  A  dominating  idea  is  meanwhile 
supplied — that  personality  is  ever  paramount.  And  with  this 
hypothesis  a  far  better  Play  could  be  built  by  the  same  author. 

TITLES    FROM     SHAKESPEARE. 

Mr.  Volney  Streamer  has  done  a  most  interesting  work  of 
the  quotations  from  Shakespeare  that  comprise  book  and  play 
titles  utilized  by  various  authors. 

This  is  a  valuable  book  for  the  playwright.  The  art  of 
christening  a  play  is  no  small  element  in  its  salesmanship  and 
financial  success.  A  hint  at  the  Plot  should  always  be  con- 
veyed by  an  adequate  title  and  for  the  author  who  finds  diffi- 
culty in  choosing  a  name,  this  collection  of  terse,  graphic  titles 
will  prove  an  aid  and  an  inspiration. 

Published  by  Mitchell  Kennerley,  New  York.    Price  $i. 

ANEW    WAY    TO     PAY    OLD     DEBTS.* 
A  Four  Plot  Play. 

If  Philip  Massinger  had  lived  in  our  day  when  stage  me- 
chanics render  scene-painting  unnecessary  in  the  dialog,  no 
doubt  he  would  build  his  Plays  as  we  build  them.  It  may 
seem  a  sacrilege  to  desecrate  this  masterpiece  of  antiquity. 
The  decree  is  not  of  our  rendering.  It  is  the  verdict  of  dra- 
matic evolution. 

As  a  model  for  students  to  follow,  nothing  could  be  more 
misleading.  As  a  consummate  outrage  of  every  known  princi- 
ple of  Play  Construction  no  better  example  could  well  be  de- 
vised. It  violates  Unity,  character  and  commonsense.  It  in- 
stances every  available  error  to  be  avoided  in  modern  crafts- 
manship from  its  improbable  semblance  of  Conflict  down  to 
the  preposterous  transparency  of  every  syllable  uttered.  No 
vestige  of  motive  hides  the  author's  nude  purpose.  His  me- 
chanical levers  are  always  in  view. 

You  ask  us  to  reduce  this  collection  of  Plots  to  a  syllogism ! 
Such  a  feat  is  impossible.  Logic  forbids!  There  is  no  one 
Conflict  contained  in  the  piece.  A  nephew  has  been  swindled 
out  of  his  estate  by  a  greedy  old  uncle.  He  contrives  to  dupe 
the  old  man  in  turn  by  the  false  rumor  of  a  wealthy  match. 
What  is  the  answer? 

The  author  attempts  to  tell  us  that  this  crafty  old  rogue  is 
easily  ensnared.  He  finances  the  courtship  of  his  nephew  in 
the  hope  of  stinging  him  a  second  time !  Does  this  tally  with 
human  events?  No  it  is  supremely  contradictory.  The  crafty 
old  uncle  is  duped  by  the  author,  not  by  the  Plot. 

*Samuel  French,  New  York,  Price  15c. 

226 


The DRAMATIST 

Suspended  from  this  are  several  spurious  Plots  and  a  host 
of  superfluous  characters.  In  a  second  Conclusion  the  author 
seeks  to  tell  us  that  it  is  the  daughter's  social  elevation  the  old 
man  strives  for.  In  a  separate  and  distinct  Plot  it  is  the  trick 
of  sanctioning  her  marriage  to  his  enemy  that  arrests  our  at- 
tention. This  belongs  in  another  Play.  The  trumped-up  trick 
of  the  deed  that  originally  robbed  the  nephew,  might  be  turned 
into  a  splendid  situation  if  properly  dramatized  into  Plot.  As 
the  piece  stands,  however,  it  is  a  hopeless  muddle  of  unsubor- 
dinated and  unnecessary  parts. 

WHAT  ARISTOTLE  ANTICIPATED 

In  his  Rhetoric  and  Poetics  he  treats  of  Drama,  Logic,  Pro- 
position, Syllogism,  Sequence,  Conditions  Precedent,  Plot, 
Acts,  Action,  Unity,  Talk,  Preparation,  Compulsion,  Charac- 
ter, Dialogue,  Episode,  Audience,  and  even  the  Happy  Ending. 
We  will  illustrate  these  points,  from  time  to  time. 

UNITY 

"It  is  necessary  that  a  Plot  which  is  well  constructed 
should  be  rather  single  than  TWO-FOLD,  (though  some  say 
it  should  be  the  latter.) 

It  is  requisite  that  as  in  other  imitative  arts  one  imitation 
is  the  imitation  of  one  thing,  thus,  also  in  drama.  The  Plot, 
since  it  is  an  imitation  of  action  should  be  the  imitation  of  one 
action,  and  of  the  WHOLE  of  this,  and  that  the  parts  of  the 
transactions  should  be  so  arranged,  that  any  one  of  them  being 
transposed,  or  taken  away,  the  whole  would  become  different 
and  changed.  For  that  which  when  present  or  not  present  pro- 
duces no  sensible  difference  is  not  a  part  of  the  Plot." 

— Aristotle,  330  B.  C. 


^^NY   of   the   printed    Vlays   in 

^y  M  these  Volumes  maybe  ordered 

of   W.   H.   'Baker  &  Co.,   Who 

carry  in  stock  the  booics  of  all  pub= 

Ushers. 

W.  H.  'Baker  &  Co. 

Publishers 

ISoston 

227 


DRAMA 

AMERICAN  PLAYGOERS 
New  York  Ciiy 


Report  of  Meetings 

Playwriting  Evening 

Hotel  Astor  Friday  Evening,  November  17,  191 1 

At  this  meeting  two  playlets  were  produced  by  the  Play- 
writing  Committee.  The  first  was  Henri  Lavedan's  "The 
Pearl"  representing  the  obsolete  drama  of  Talk.  The  second 
was  a  revision  of  "The  Pearl"  in  which  the  Plot  essentials 
were  visualized  by  means  of  symbols  and  events. 

A  brief  outline  of  each  playlet  follows : 

First  Version 

A  man  and  wife  tell  the  audience  of  a  servant  who  was 
taken  ill  the  day  of  her  employment.  They  have  been  very 
kind  to  the  girl.  She  is  now  restored  to  health  and  will  begin 
work.  She  enters  dressed  for  the  street.  She  must  leave.  The 
wife  is  surprised  at  this  apparent  ingratitude.  The  girl  finally 
confesses  that  she  is  the  accomplice  of  a  thief.  Her  physician 
is  the  thief  in  disguise.  They  intended  to  loot  the  place.  The 
woman  is  disappointed  in  "the  pearl"  she  thought  she  had 
found  for  a  servant. 

Second  Version 

We  see  the  thieves  actually  at  v/ork.  A  pearl  is  a  part  of 
their  plunder.  When  the  wife  enters  the  man  assumes  to  be 
a  physician  in  attendance  upon  the  pseudo-servant  girl.  The 
wife  pays  the  doctor  and  dismisses  him.  The  girl  attempts  to 
leave  on  the  excuse  that  the  doctor  has  prescribed  exercise  in 
the  open  air  but  through  a  force  of  circumstances  is  caught 
with  the  stolen  goods.  She  now  confesses  the  plot  to  rob  the 
place  and  proves  her  gratitude  for  the  hospitality  extended  by 
returning  "the  pearl"  to  its  owner. 

Third  Version 

Suggestions  were  invited  and  a  lively  discussion  ensued. 
The  points  brought  cut  in  this  discussion  together  with  writ- 
ten revisions  submitted  by  professional  and  amateur  drama- 
tists in  the  club,  have  been  incorporated  in  a  third  version  of 
the  playlet  which  is  given  herewith  in  full. 

228 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE    PEARL 

fWife 
Characters  -{Jimmy 
[Clara 

SCENE:  A  sick  room.    Time:   Evening. 

At  rise,  Clara  is  reclining  in  invalid's  chair.  Medicines, 
and  other  sick-room  accessories  in  evidence.  Wife  is  adminis- 
tering a  teaspoonful  of  liquid  to  Clara. 

WIFE. — I'm  so  glad  you're  improving,  my  dear. 

CLARA — It's  all  due  to  your  kindness,  madam. 

WIFE. — Oh,  my  child,  it  has  been  a  real  pleasure  to  care 
for  you. 

CLARA. — Most  ladies  would  have  sent  me 

WIFE. — Oh,  no,  no,  no,  the  common  servant,  perhaps,  but 
not  you,  Clara. 

CLARA. — I've  never  known  a  person  like  you.  You've 
been  a  regular  mother  to  me. 

WIFE. — And  you've  appreciated  it. 

CLARA.— But  I  don't  deserve  it. 

WIFE. — There,  there,  we  won't  talk  about  that.  I  know 
you'll  be  the  best  maid  I  ever  had. 

CLARA. — The  doctor  is  coming  this  evening. 

WIFE. — Yes,  what  will  he  say  when  he  sees  you  sitting 
up? 

CLARA. — He  will  know  it  is  all  your  kindness. 

WIFE. — (Bell  rings)     There  he  is  now.    (Exit  wife). 

(Clara  hurriedly  begins  dressing;  abandons  feigned  illness) 

JIMMY. — (Enters,  dressed  as  a  Physician.  Speaks  in  sup- 
pressed voice)     Hello  kid!     Are  you  ready? 

CLARA. — Oh,  yes.  .  .  .1  suppose  so 

JIMMY.— Suppose? 

CLARA. — What  excuse  will  you  give  for  my  leaving? 

JIMMY.— Excuse? 

CLARA. — Yes,  she  expects  me  to  start  work. 

JIMMY. — Now  that  I  cured  you,  eh?     (Laughs). 

CLARA. — But  how  will  I  get  away? 

JIMMY. — Leave  that  to  me.  I'll  prescribe  a  little  fresh  air. 
See! 

CLARA. — She's  been  so  kind  to  me! 

JIMMY. — Look  here,  kid,  are  you  gettin'  cold  feet.  Get  on 
the  job! 

CLARA. — Oh,  I  can't  do  it,  Jimmy. 

JIMMY. — None  of  that!    Where's  the  junk? 

CLARA. — (Sighs,  reluctantly)  In  that  room — the  top  bu- 
reau drawer — a  leather  box. 

229 


The  DRAMATIST 

JIMMY. — (Produces  tools)  Good!  Now  you  watch  that 
door! 

(Exit  Jimmy,  stealthily.  Clara  opens  grip.  Jimmy  re- 
turns, places  box  in  it.     Showing  pearl  brooch)     How's  that? 

CLARA. — (Takes  pearl)     Oh,  that's  her  favorite  pearl. 

JIMMY. — The  best  of  friends  must  part. 

CLARA. — Oh,  I  can't  bear  to  take  that.  Let  me  put  it 
back !    Please ! 

JIMMY.— No! 

CLARA.— I  must! 

JIMMY. — Say!  Cut  that,  now.  You  fall  down  on  this  job 
and  I'll  fix  you!    Do  you  hear? 

(Noise  of  approach.    Jimmy  covers  grip  with  Clara's  coat) 

(Sh !    Sink  it.    She's  coming !    Keep  up  the  bluff. 

(Clara  assumes  attitude  of  patient. ..  .Jimmy  feeling  her 
pulse) 

(Enter  wife) 

WIFE — Our  patient  is  recovering  rapidly,  doctor. 

JIMMY. — Yes yes,  thank  you. 

WIFE. — Why  I  declare  I  can  see  a  change  for  the  better 
since  I  left  her,  a  moment  ago. 

JIMMY. — Oh,  she's  doing  wonderfully,  wonderfully. 

WIFE. — (Gives  him  money)  We  are  grateful  to  you,  doc- 
tor, for  bringing  her  around  so  promptly. 

JIMMY. — Thank  you.  You  won't  need  my  services  any 
longer,  I  presume. 

WIFE. — That  is  for  you  to  say.  What  is  your  advice 
about  work,  doctor?    Would  it  be  wise  for  her ? 

JIMMY. — Oh,  she  can  begin  any  time,  now. 

WIFE.— I  shant  let  her  exert  herself. 

JIMMY. — I  can  believe  that.  Good  evening,  ladies.  Good 
evening!  Don't  forget,  Miss,  a  little  exercise  in  the  open  air. 
(Jimmy  exits,  followed  by  wife,  showing  him  out.  Clara  makes 
hasty  preparation  for  street.  Conceals  pearl  in  her  bosom.  Is 
pinning  on  hat  when  wife  returns). 

WIFE. — Why,  Clara,  where  are  you  going? 

CLARA.— Why to to  get  a  little  fresh  air. 

Wife — At  night.... are  you  sure  the  doctor  would  ap- 
prove . . . .  ? 

CLARA. — You. . .  .you  heard  him  prescribe  it.  . .  .(Slyly 
reaches  for  her  grip). 

WIFE. — Your  grip!    (Puts  her  hand  on  grip). 

CLARA.— (Nervously)  Don't! 

WIFE.— Don't  what? 

CLARA. — (Takes  hold  of  grip)     Give  it  to  me! 

WIFE. — Clara,  you've  packed  your  things,  you're  going  to 
leave  ? 

CLARA. — I  am  sorry,  madam, I  must 

230 


The  DRAMATIST 

WIFE. — Why,  Clara,  after  all  we  have  done  for  you. 

CLARA. — I  appreciate  that,  Madam. 

WIFE. — This  is  an  odd  way  you  have  of  showing  it. 

CLARA. — Madam  has  been  exceedingly  kind,  I  know. 

WIFE. — Then  why  do  you  wish  to  leave? 

CLARA. — I'm  sorry,  madam.  I  hate  to  inconvenience  you 
— but— but— 

WIFE.— But  what? 

CLARA. — I'm  compelled  to.    I  cannot  stay! 

WIFE. — I  begin  to  see,  you've  imposed  on  me.  You  never 
intended  to  work.  You've  taken  advantage  of  my  hospitality 
and  now  that  you  are  cured 

CLARA. — Oh,  no.  Madam,  I  am  not  an  ingrate.  Don't 
think  that. 

WIFE. — Then  why  are  you  leaving? 

CLARA. — It  is  absolutely  necessary,  I  tell  you. 

WIFE. — Why  did  you  ever  enter  this  house,  tell  me  that? 

CLARA. — I'd  like  to  explain but oh,  no,  you 

wouldn't  understand. 

WIFE. — I  understand  one  thing,  you  are  no  servant. 

CLARA. — No,  madam,  I  am  not. 

WIFE. — I  thought  not.    You're  above  that. 

CLARA. — I  must  be  going  Madam,  really. 

WIFE. — No!  Cfera  first  tell  me  why  you  came  here!  I 
have  been  your  friend,  haven't  I? 

CLARA. — (Breaks  down,  crying)  Oh,  I'm  sorry  I  ever 
came! 

WIFE. — How  can  you  say  that? 

CLARA. — Because,  I  am  not  what  you  think  me ! 

WIFE.— Then  tell  me,  Clara 

CLARA. — (Opens  grip  revealing  plunder)  There!  There! 
Now  you  know!  (sobbing) 

WIFE. — My  jewel  case! 

CLARA.— Sh !    Not  so  loud. 

WIFE. — My  girl,  my  girl !  You  came  here  and  deliberately 
plotted  to  rob  me ! 

CLARA.— No,  No,  I  didn't 

WIFE.— Who  then? 

CLARA — It  was Jimmy. 

WIFE — Jimmy? 

CLARA. — Yes,  the  Physician. 

WIFE. — I  do  not  believe  you. 

CLARA.— It's  the  truth. 

WIFE.— Then  he  is  a  thief! 

CLARA. — Yes,  he's  no  doctor. 

WIFE.— And  you? 

CLARA. — I  am  merely  his  associate. 

WIFE. — And  you  were  not  ill? 

231 


The  DRAMATIST 

CLARA.— No. 

WIFE. — Oh,  Clara,  I  can't  believe  you  would  do  such  a 
thing!  You  seemed  such  a  genuine  girl.  .  .  .1  called  you  my 
jewel. 

CLARA. — (Clutches  her  bosom)  Your  jewel? 

WIFE. — Oh,  what  a  fool  I've  been. 

CLARA.— No,  Madam,  don't  say  that. 

WIFE. — I  thought  I  had  found  such  a  pearl. 

CLARA. — Perhaps  you  will  find  one. 

(Takes  pearl  from  her  bosom  unseen  by  wife) 

V/IFE. — What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

CLARA. — You've  been  exceedingly  kind  to  me.  I  am  not 
ungrateful.    I  don't  want  you  to  think  ill  of  me.    Good  bye ! 

(Clara  tosses  pearl  in  her  lap  and  abruptly  exits,  sobbing) 

WIFE.— My  pearl! 

THE  END. 

Fourth  Version. 

The  sketch  still  lacks  a  development  of  the  dominating 
idea.  The  purpose  of  the  author  was  to  demonstrate  that 
spark  of  gratitude  kindled  in  the  soul  by  disinterested  kind- 
ness. He  wished  to  show  that  this  is  true  even  of  a  thief. 
This  purpose  is  not  successfully  pronounced  in  any  of  the 
three  versions  given  above.  Furt'ner  suggestions  are  asked 
for.  These  will  be  dramatized  into  the  present  manuscript  and 
produced  before  the  "Playgoers"  at  a  later  meeting. 

Address,  Luther  B.  Anthony,  Chairman  of  the  Playwriting 
Committee,  care  of  "The  Dramatist,"  Easton,  Pa. 


r^TRE^V  the  gospel  of  Technology! 
■*-^  //  pou  have  friends  Who  are  bat- 
tling blindly  With  obstacles  of  this 
craft,  ask  us  to  send  them  a  specimen 
copy. 

The  Dramatist 

Easton,  Pa. 


232 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER  B.  ANTHONY,  E.ditor 

Vol.  III.                           EASTON,  PA. 

No.  3 

QUAR.TERLY                            1912 

APRIL 

Enduring  Success 

Revoluticn  in  all  Avenues  of  Trade, 

The  revoluticn  that  is  modifying  methods  in  every  avenue 
of  commerce  and  finance  has  not  yet  reached  the  stronghold  of 
the  average  Theatrical  Manager.  In  his  endeavor  to  secure  the 
patronage  of  a  body  of  customers  whose  intelligence  is  rapidly 
rising  he  has  advanced  his  forces  of  efficiency  on  but  one  side 
— the  fight  for  publicity. 

In  nearly  every  other  line  of  trade  the  old  methods  of  win- 
ning patronage  are  taboo.  In  the  modern  battle  for  business 
supremacy  the  man  who  sells  for  the  sake  of  selling  or  ad- 
vertises merely  to  collect  a  crowd;  soon  goes  down  to  endur- 
ing defeat.  There  is  a  higher  principle  that  governs  business- 
getting  nowadays.  It  is  the  idea  of  a  SERVICE  rendered  in 
exchange  for  profit  gained.  It  is  just  possible  that  the  stage  is 
the  last  division  of  industry  to  adopt  or  recognize  this  higher 
law  of  economic  supply  and  demand.  Let  us  examine  into  this 
question. 

In  the  salesmanship  of  drama  the  first  mark  of  Service  is 
good  entertainment.  We  like  to  think  that  the  people  as  a 
whole  demand  a  Play  with  a  purpose,  with  a  dominating  idea; 
but  this  is  not  yet  the  universal  standard.  It  may  be  the  next 
step  in  audience-evolution.  But  purpose-drama  is  like  the  mat- 
ter of  taste  in  dress.  Some  possess  it.  The  bulk  of  the  "tasty" 
clothes  that  are  bought  are  a  hoax.  For  even  the  sale  of  a  hat 
is  less  a  matter  of  use  than  emotion.  The  style  is  the  buyer's 
governing  theme. 

In  the  mad  race  with  frenzied  competition  the  manager  de- 
votes much  thought  to  the  plea  for  publicity.  He  intuitively 
selects  the  Play  that  promises  this  feature  rather  than  the  one 
which  supplies  the  intrinsic  demand  (and  thereby  renders  a 
Service)  the  Play  with  good  entertainment.  That  there  is  no 
enduring  success  in  this  notoriety-mongering  has  been  well 
demonstrated  in  the  present  disastrous  year.  For  not  only  is 
it  impossible  to  maintain  the  publicity  product,  playgoing  con- 
fidence is  so  wrecked  by  the  attempt  that  really  good  Plays 
suffer  for  the  sins  of  their  sensational  sisters. 

233 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  stage  must  fall  in  line  with  the  march  of  commercial 
methods.  Its  slogan,  too,  must  be  SERVICE  and  satisfaction 
for  enduring  success. 

THE    SERVANT    IN    THE    HOUSE.* 
Gospel  Engraved  on  the  Naked  Soul. 

The  deftness  with  which  this  author  has  shown  the  laws  of 
God  in  the  ways  of  man  establishes  him  as  one  of  the  consum- 
mate masters  of  his  craft.  In  attempting  to  analyze  this  mas- 
terpiece, the  subconscious  mind  of  the  critic  cries:  "Hands  off! 
You  are  tampering  with  the  work  of  the  Infinite."  With  the 
ennobling  impression  of  its  theme  fresh  upon  him  the  tech- 
nologist hesitates  to  ply  his  probe. 

Three  situations  arise  in  this  Play  that  challenge  the  virile 
moments  in  stage  history.  They  are  as  tender  in  treatment  as 
they  are  telling  in  effect.  We  refer  to  the  three  moments  of 
emotional  magnitude  where  the  tie  of  the  father  and  daughter 
tug  alternately  at  our  heartstrings. 

The  first  instance  is  the  girl's  ardent  desire  to  find  her  own 
father.  She  invites  the  uncouth  drainman  to  join  her  wishing 
party.  "I  want  my  father,"  wails  the  child,  and  all  the  while 
WE  KNOW  that  this  grimy  old  scavenger  is  her  rightful 
parent  whom  the  uncle  is  concealing  from  her.  "I  want  my  lit- 
tle kid,"  is  the  father's  earnest  prayer. 

The  child  builds  an  exalted  image  of  her  missing  sire  and 
the  poor  drainman  hurts  her  by  hinting  that  he  might  not  be  as 
ideal  as  she  fancies.  "Don't  take  away  my  little  dream,"  she 
pleads.  And  with  a  lump  rising  in  his  throat  (and  in  ours)  he 
reluctantly  yields:  "All  right,  I  won't." 

The  third  instance  is  the  final  revelation  that  the  grimy  old 
ditch  digger  is  her  father.  As  he  emerges  from  the  filthy  drain, 
drenched  with  the  muck  and  reeking  with  the  foulest  stench, 
he  becomes  the  embodiment  of  her  high  ideals  because  he  pos- 
sesses the  moral  courage  to  rid  the  church  of  a  poisonous  drain. 
The  daughter  rushes  to  his  arms    and    cries:  "You    are    my 

father You  are  my  wish  come  true!"  For  he  is  the  very 

emblem  of  righteousness  her  pious  uncle  has  taught  her  to 
revere. 

Here  we  have  a  delightful  satire  on  the  hollow  efforts  of  a 
superficial  class  of  clergyman  who  decline  to  dig  beneath  the 
tenets  of  the  church.  It  is  a  sermon  played  in  human  Confiict. 
The  author  does  not  soar  above  our  heads  into  the  realm  of 
vague  psychology.  He  casts  his  theme  in  the  mold  of  our  emo- 
tions and  founds  his  best  scenes  upon  our  racial  traits.  At  the 
font  of  parental  affection  he  saturates  our  spirit  with  a  flood  of 
brotherly  love. 

*Harper  &  Bro.    Price  $1.25. 
234 


The  DRAMATIST 

Problem. 

1.  A  child  is  separated  from  her  humble  father  by  a  priest. 

2.  The  father's  moral  courage  puts  the  priest  to  shame. 

3.  The  child  is  allowed  to  return  to  her  own  father. 

This  is  the  structural  basis  of  the  Play.  In  this  operation 
of  the  parental  law  lies  all  the  emotional  appeal.  It  is  true  this 
Problem  takes  no  account  of  the  Christ  idea  but  that  is  no  ele- 
ment in  the  real  Plot.  "Manson"  is  the  author's  spiritual  sym- 
bol. To  make  him  a  factor  in  the  Conflict  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  assign  him  an  active  office  in  the  contention.  As  it  is 
he  is  actuated  by  no  motive  other  than  the  divine  will.  And 
this  quantity  cannot  be  cast  in  human  character. 

What  then  is  the  purpose  of  this  superhuman  being  whose 
identity  is  never  made  quite  clear  in  the  Plot?  He  is  the  pub- 
licity feature  of  the  Play.  For  while  the  parental  element  is 
the  power  that  moves  the  audience,  the  Christ  idea  is  the  thing 
draws  them  there.  What  other  character  in  Christendom  is  so 
well  advertised.  "Manson's"  resemblance  to  the  Messiah  is  not 
to  be  mistaken.  The  masquerade  as  a  servant  is  but  a  filmy 
veil.  The  gown,  the  make-up  and  even  the  mystery  about  his 
person  serve  the  one  purpose  of  Christ  on  the  stage. 

But  apart  from  this  diversion,  which  is  deliberate,  of  course, 
examples  of  positive  playwriting  principle  are  manifold.  The 
infinite  care  with  which  minute  possibilities  are  nursed  into 
vigorous  dramatic  life  is  characteristic  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  lofty 
ideal  of  workmanship.  His  soul  is  so  saturated  with  the  spirit 
of  divinity  that  his  art  necessarily  partakes  of  this  sacrament. 
As  a  dramatist  he  ranks  first  as  an  interpreter  of  the  gospel  in 
dramatic  form. 

THE    TERRIBLE    MEEK.* 
The  Author  Dictates  and  his  Auditors  Create. 

Select  an  audience  of  mental  temperaments,  surfeited  with 
seasons  of  incessant  playgoing  and  how  will  you  entertain 
them?  This  is  the  problem  that  confronts  Charles  Rann  Ken- 
nedy in  his  effort  to  fit  a  Play  to  "Little  Theatre"  patrons  and 
here  is  his  solution. 

First  of  all  he  blindfolds  his  audience  by  plunging  the  thea- 
tre into  utter  darkness.  He  then  provides  a  Lenten  thesis  out 
of  which  they  may  construct  a  Play  by  relating  a  fable  in  the 
every-day  speech  of  our  time.  Under  the  author's  guiding  su- 
pervision we  are  compelled  to  build  in  the  life  of  today  a  tra- 
gedy that  transformed  the  history  of  the  world. 

*Harper  &  Bro.    Price  $1.00. 

235 


The  DRAMATIST 

Taking  the  story  of  the  cross  for  a  text  the  dramatist  drav/s 
upon  oi:r  memory,  imagination,  reasoning  and  insight  till  his 
words  uttered  by  unseen  puppets  suggest  his  auditors  into  an 
individual  construction  of  the  greatest  drama  in  history — the 
crucifixion.  At  the  end  our  mental  spectacle  is  corroborated 
by  a  final  tableau  on  the  stage. 

This  is  an  entirely  new  species  in  the  evolution  of  drama- 
turgy. The  author  dictates  while  his  auditors  create.  They 
form  the  new  concept  by  a  combination  of  their  own  images. 
From  theological  information  previously  acquired  each  indi- 
vidual brings  his  play  to  the  theatre  to  reconstruct  it  on  the 
author's  secret  plan.  This  plan  involves  a  culminating  moral 
which  the  dramatist  applies: 

"A  newer  courage,  more  like  woman's.  Dealing  with  life, 
not  death.    It  changes  everything." 

Of  course  this  treatment  opposes  the  principles  of  Play 
Construction.  This  need  neither  debar  Mr.  Kennedy  nor  dra- 
matic law.  Drama  is  for  the  democratic  masses.  "The  Terri- 
ble Meek"  is  for  the  intellectual  few.  It  was  designed  for  them. 
Its  capacity  to  please  these  sophisticated  first-nighters  can  best 
be  cited  by  the  words  of  Burns  Mantle,  an  estimable  critic : 

"Not  a  single  handclap  broke  the  spell.  When  the  lights 
were  turned  up,  the  audience  calmly  and  quietly  walked  out  of 
the  theatre.  In  many  respects  it  was  the  strongest  exhibition 
I  ever  had  witnessed  in  a  theatre.  And  should  I  live  to  grow 
haltingly,  tiresomely  reminiscent  I  never  shall  forget  the  sight 
of  that  sophisticated  New  York  audience  hurrying  quietly,  so- 
berly up  the  aisles,  half  of  them  with  heads  bowed  as  though 
ashamed  of  this  show  of  emotional  susceptibility,  the  other 
half  eager  to  get  past  the  exits  and  back  into  the  atmosphere  of 
the  streets  and  the  town." 


THE    MARIONETTES. 

A    Chart  for   Nazimova's    Acting. 

That  a  Play  may  be  less  a  Play  and  still  offer  superior  op- 
portunity to  the  star  performing  the  principal  part  may  sound 
like  a  paradox.  This  is  true,  however,  of  Nazimova  in  this  pe- 
culiar importation  called  "The  Marionettes."  What  the  con- 
flict has  provided  in  the  way  of  character  creation  is  very  lit- 
tle.   What  the  actress  has  infused  is  very  much. 

But  is  this  isolated  essence  of  histrionic  art  the  thing  we 
most  of  us  go  to  see?  I  claim  it  is  not.  At  least,  in  the  thea- 
tre. We  may  thoroughly  enjoy  the  entertainer  who  does  a 
monologue,  but  the  Play  implies  a  representation  of  a  conten- 
tion between  human  beings.  Out  of  this  Conflict  the  person- 
ality of  the  character  is  spun.  And  this  spinning  is  our  cher- 
ished illusion. 

236 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       1ST 

The  Marionettes"  is  nothing  more  than  a  chronicle  of  do- 
mestic affairs,  most  of  which,  to  the  American  playgoer  are 
highly  artificial. 

1.  A  man  of  the  world  marries  a  demure  little  creature  for 
her  money. 

2.  She  attracts  the  serious  attentions  of  another  man. 

3.  The  husband  is  piqued  into  loving  her. 

This  is  the  dramatic  depth  of  the  piece.  In  itself  it  creates 
no  illusion.  We  do  not  see  the  wife  evolve  from  mouse  to  co- 
quette for  there  is  no  Conflict  to  evolve  her.  Nazimova,  on  the 
other  hand,  weaves  a  vision  of  impersonation  wholly  indepen- 
dent of  the  Play  or  playwright.  By  the  rare  subtlety  of  her 
craft  she  compels  the  stage  existence  of  this  artless  little  witch. 

Naturally,  the  actress  who  can  create  an  illusion  of  charac- 
ter reality  without  a  shadow  of  dramatic  fabric  to  sustain  her, 
is  the  greater  artist.  But  the  production  of  which  she  is  a  part 
is  not  a  greater  Play.  Player  and  Playwright  must  labor  hand 
in  hand  to  paint  the  dramatic  picture.  Absence  of  the  one  ren- 
ders the  other  mere  mimicry.  The  Play  is  the  product  of  both 
and  the  fellow  who  said  "The  PLAY'S  the  thing"  understood 
his  business. 

ELEVATING    A    HUSBAND. 
Four  Play  Problems  Struggle  for  Supremacy. 

Problem  No.  i. 

1.  A  refined  girl  marries  a  self-made  man. 

2.  She  cannot  elevate  him  to  her  standards. 

3.  He  goes  away  and  obtains  a  polish. 

Problem  No.  2. 

1.  A  wife  cannot  polish  her  plebeian  mother-in-law. 

2.  She  leaves  the  husband  on  latter's  account. 

3.  The  mother  surrenders  for  her  son's  sake. 

Problem  No.  3. 

1.  A  husband  employs  his  rival  as  manager. 

2.  The  rival  wrecks  his  master's  fortune. 

3.  The  wife  renounces  the  rival. 

Problem  No.  4. 

1.  The  v/ife  loans  money  to  her  former  suitor. 

2.  The  husband  suspects  her  fidelity. 

3.  She  condemns  the  worthless  lover. 

237 


The DRAMATIST 

This  Play  is  really  not  as  hashed-up  as  these  immature  syl- 
logisms might  indicate.  None  of  these  Problems  are  com- 
pletely carried  out.  The  second  one  is  barely  suggested.  But 
each  tendency  toward  separate  entity  means  dissolution  of  the 
first  which  is  the  valid  core  of  the  Conflict.  As  indicated  by 
the  third  clause  of  this  Problem  the  "elevating"  takes  place  off 
stage  where  the  husband  sojourns  to  the  farm  for  a  siege  of 
cultivation. 

The  third  Problem  is  the  conventional  melodrama,  sand- 
wiched in  for  full  measure.  It  retards  the  legitimate  Play  of 
which  it  forms  no  tributary  part,  and  in  itself  is  so  fabulous 
that  it  obtains  no  vestige  of  illusion.  Problem  number  four  is 
a  distracted  offshoot  of  the  moment,  false  in  its  intent  and  det- 
rimental to  the  main  thread  of  interest. 

The  original  Play  has  possibilities  galore  if  the  main  trial 
were  followed  and  the  opportunities  dramatized.  The  pro- 
cess of  "elevating"  could  be  made  one  of  the  ludicrous  hits  of 
the  Plot  if  it  were  accomplished  on  the  stage  and  the  spurious 
Problems  eliminated.  It  is  difficult  to  SEE  the  main  path  in 
such  a  maze  of  windings  but  the  straight  and  narrow  course 
is  the  only  one  that  will  safely  reach  the  author's  destination. 
Diversity  of  purpose  may  provide  a  broader  range  for  the  ver- 
satile artistry  of  Mr.  Louis  Mann,  but  rigid  concentration  is 
the  only  treatment  that  can  produce  big  dramatic  value. 

The  play  just  barely  misses  the  mark.  These  various  Prob- 
lems only  obtrude  in  spots.  The  clever  "business"  and  detail 
employed  throughout  the  production  tend  to  hold  interest  in 
spite  of  structural  infirmities.  The  main  character  of  the  "hus- 
band" is  intensely  real  at  instances  where  the  character-creat- 
ing Conflict  is  convincing. 

SUMURUN. 

Meaningless  as  Well  as  Wordless. 

By  far  the  most  pronounced  novelty  in  "Sumurun"  is  its 
utter  dissimilarity  to  anything  heretofore  disguised  as  a  play. 
In  fact  it  has  so  well  succeeded  in  this  particular  that  it  es- 
capes the  classification  of  drama  entirely.  We  can  well  imag- 
ine a  wordless  Play,  but  it  would  have  to  be  about  something 
coherent  to  the  eye.  It  would  be  a  task  beyond  the  interpreta- 
tion of  any  unaided  imagination  on  earth  to  glean  a  connected 
story  from  the  optical  appreciation  of  this  piece.  It  is  even 
less  explanatory  than  the  general  run  of  Plays  would  be  minus 
the  auditory  factor.  And  even  with  a  spoken  prologue  and  a 
handbook  of  thousands  of  words  to  the  rescue,  there  results  no 
satisfactory  interpretation  of  the  thing.  It  is  a  comic  opera 
without  meaning  or  merriment — an  Oriental  fable  without  sus- 
tained interest. 

238 


The  DRAMATIST 

Starting  with  a  name  unknown  in  dictionaries,  it  is  a  word- 
less Play  merely  because  words  cannot  be  summoned  to  de- 
scribe its  dissimilarity  to  anything  worth  while  in  dramaturgy. 
Readers  of  this  journal  know  that  an  experiment  in  a  wordless 
Play  would  be  hailed  as  a  boon  to  students.  In  fact  this  phase 
of  construction  has  been  a  continual  hobby  in  these  columns. 
It  is  the  highest  test  of  live  dramatic  materials.  The  announce- 
ment of  "Sumurun"  promised  this  visual  treat  but  its  produc- 
tion falls  short  on  many  counts.  And  the  first  of  these  is  that 
it  is  not  a  Play — not  even  possessed  of  the  material  for  one. 

In  the  first  place,  if  the  fable  could  be  understood  by  the 
average  spectator  its  Plot  would  fail  either  to  interest  or  amuse 
in  any  clean  or  wholesome  sense.  The  pantomimed  exhibition 
is  not  coherent,  however,  but  requires  translation  to  the 
American  point  of  view.  The  antics  of  the  mimes  convey  no 
meaning  to  the  audience.  Their  pantomime  not  only  fails  of 
interpretation  but  it  serves  to  obscure  itself  of  the  super  ex- 
aggeration of  wordless  effort  and  incongruity  of  triple  Plot. 

The  piece  fails  to  convey  a  connected  idea  of  anything.  In 
spots  where  it  is  intelligible  it  goes  to  the  opposite  extreme  of 
lascivious  and  carnal  suggestion.  It  is  a  pamphlet  of  self  in- 
dulgence and  dissipation  of  the  most  destructive  kind  with  no 
single  redeeming  trait. 

What  then  is  the  secret  of  its  momentary  success — a  curio 
of  weird  stage  pictures  of  the  harem,  with  its  concubines, 
eunuchs,  slaves  and  buffoons?  Proclaimed  as  a  top  notch  of 
art  these  clowns  in  their  bungling.  Bagdad  trimmings  escape 
police  inspection.  Undisguised  as  superior  craftsmanship, 
such  lechery  would  hardly  get  past  the  health  official. 

That  a  wordless  play  could  be  built  we  have  prevailing 
proofs,  on  all  sides.  Let  the  competent  actors  or  any  photo- 
play produce  their  camera  pantomime  before  the  audience  and 
we  would  have  a  wordless  Play  infinitely  better  than  "Sumu- 
run."  On  the  screen  this  German  importation  would  drive  the 
audience  to  the  ticket  booth  for  money  back.  In  the  theatre  it 
can  survive  as  a  passing  fad  at  best.  The  fact  that  its  scenery 
represents  a  novel  style  of  German  poster  art  is  hardly  an  ade- 
quate excuse  for  American  importation. 

GREEN    STOCKINGS. 

The  Classic  Comedy  of  the  Season. 

No  better  evidence  of  the  shattered  condition  of  playgoing 
confidence  can  be  offered  than  the  impossibility  of  publicizing 
this  rare  example  of  classic  comedy.  Thousands  of  theatre- 
goers actually  want  this  quality  of  Play,  but  there  is  no  means 
of    convincing   them.     The    Play   with    a   sensational    "news 

239 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

value"  starts  the  public  press  in  motion  and  the  normal  pro- 
duct is  blighted  by  contrast.  Both  branches  lose,  for  the  pub- 
lic faith  is  undermined.  The  rank  and  file  of  theatre  patrons 
feel  this  uncertainty  and  prefer  to  apply  their  box  office  allow- 
ance to  the  deficit  made  by  the  high  cost  of  living. 

Few  Comedies  in  the  past  and  certainly  none  of  the  pres- 
ent season  display  the  intricate  operations  of  dramatic  law  put 
forth  in  the  second  act  of  "Green  Stockings."  It  seems  in- 
credible to  think  the  same  author  guilty  of  that  other  nonde- 
script "The  Witness  for  the  Defense."  A.  E.  W.  Mason  did 
them  both  and  the  strangest  part  of  all,  this  author  is  by  rights, 
a  novelist. 

The  fable  of  the  Play,  is  the  simplest  yam  like  the  thread 
of  all  high  comedies.  A  girl  pretends  to  have  a  sweetheart  and 
the  fictitious  fiance  turns  up  at  an  inopportune  moment.  It  is 
the  dexterity  with  which  the  author  discloses  his  incarnation 
to  the  audience  and  unfolds  this  miracle  to  the  girl  herself,  that 
utterly  fascinates.  The  managers  have  made  two  ineffectual 
attempts  to  let  the  playgoers  know  that  such  a  treat  is  availa- 
ble. It  seems  to  be  an  impossible  feat  in  the  momentary  panic 
of  New  York  press  agencies. 

THE    TRAIL    OF    THE    LONESOME    PINE. 
With  Many  Forks  and  Crossroads. 

No  playwright  on  earth  could  reduce  the  cumbersome  story 
of  this  bcok  to  a  concrete  Play  Problem.  It  is  no  trail  at  all. 
It  is  a  lane  with  a  thousand  windings.  To  preserve  these  char- 
acteristic values  of  the  book  is  the  first  purpose  of  the  novel- 
ist for  it  is  in  them  that  he  plans  to  profit  in  staging  his  work 
for  his  myriad  of  readers. 

Eugene  Walter  has  demonstrated  the  magnitude  and  im- 
propriety of  this  task.  From  previous  specimens  of  his  art  we 
are  convinced  that  he  knows  a  Play  when  he  sees  one.  It  is 
the  false  conditions  imposed  by  the  novel  that  bind  him  hand 
and  foot.  Without  these  tangled  tales  of  dramatic  disunity 
his  book-built  audience  would  be  dissatisfied.  To  incorporate 
them  means  dramatic  suicide. 

"The  Trail  of  the  Lonesome  Pine,"  therefore,  is  not  a  Play, 
it  is  what  the  average  book  would  look  like  stretched  out  in 
spoken  words  plus  a  few  really  dramatic  situations.  But  since 
these  situations  are  founded  on  recited  facts  they  partake  of 
the  fictitious  to  a  marked  degree. 

The  futility  of  elaborate  scenic  effect  in  a  realistic  drama  is 
well  illustrated  by  this  spectacular  effort.  Attention  is  not 
concentrated,  thereby,  it  is  distracted.  The  artificialities  of  a 
miniature  mountain  path  with  an  amateur  horse  ascending  it 
is  not  calculated  to  lend  interest  to  the  fable.    The  thump  of 

240 


The DRAMATIST 

the  old  nag's  hoofs  on  the  hollow  lumber  hill  successfully  dis- 
pels the  illusion.  Our  suspense  is  misdirected  to  the  rider's 
peril.  This  artifice  does  not  gain  adequate  atmosphere  for  the 
Play. 

Isn't  it  evident,  then,  that  transposition  requires  greater 
skill  than  play  writing?  Isn't  it  true  that  a  successful  dramati- 
zation of  a  novel  is  impossible?  Mr.  Galsworthy  supports  this 
theory  as  applied  to  his  own  books.  Once  in  a  great  while 
there  is  an  exception  like  "Brewster's  Millions"  where  drama- 
tization is  made  possible  by  the  dramatic  quality  of  the  text. 

DISRAELI.* 

A  Play  of  Factional  Appeal, 

Any  Play  that  takes  the  lead  in  the  endurance  run  of  the 
season  demands  serious  consideration  even  though  its  techni- 
cal essentials  be  wholly  ignored.  Two  strong  factors  in  this 
product  strive  for  popularity:  racial  pride  and  historical  per- 
sonage. The  first  appeals  to  the  HebfUv  populace,  the  second 
enlists  the  endorsement  of  educationaP^thorities.  Both  bring 
their  throngs  to  the  theatre  to  witness  this  well  played  part. 
Disraeli  was  a  great  character  in  history.  He  is  the  greatest 
Jew  in  English  annals. 

Apart  from  these  two  commercial  ingredients  the  piece 
contains  little  or  no  theatrical  worth.  There  is  no  dominating 
theme  or  purpose.  On  its  bare  dramatic  effectiveness  it  would 
never  make  good.  The  Plot  creaks  with  crude  mechanics.  The 
situations  and  absurdities  fairly  shriek  "Amateur!    Amateur!" 

Two  fragments  of  Conflict  flounder  about  for  preservation. 
Neither  effectually  floats:  A  regeneration  idea  of  developing 
character  in  a  stupid  young  nobleman  and  a  prime  minister's 
plunge  into  high  finance  of  international  dimensions.  The 
nearest  approach  to  a  Play  Problem  in  this  confusion  is  the 
following : 

Problem. 

1.  A  statesman  buys  a  canal  on  a  bankrupt's  note. 

2.  He  forces  a  banker  to  honor  this  worthless  paper. 

3.  The  nation  extols  his  cunning. 

The  foregoing  is  not  the  stuff  good  Plays  are  made  of. 
The  author  endeavors  to  patch  it  out  with  a  third  episode  that 
concerns  a  female  spy.  The  lesson  to  be  learned  is:  Go  not 
and  do  likewise.  In  the  first  place  there  are  few  Disraelis.  In 
the  second  place  it  is  the  rarest  possibility  that  an  actor  may 
be  found  to  fit  the  part  so  closely.    And  last  but  not  least,  the 

*John  Lane  Company.     Price  $1.00. 

241 


The  DRAMATIST 

Jewish  people  will  soon  learn  to  resent  this  speculation  in  a 
dramatization  of  their  tribal  pride  so  baldly  capitalized  in 
Plays  like  "The  Melting  Pot,"  "As  a  Man  Thinks,"  and 
"Disraeli." 

KINDLING. 
A  Protest  Against  Tenement  Maternity. 

Problem. 

1.  A  wife  steals  to  provide  a  home  for  her  offspring. 

2.  The  theft  discloses  her  secret  of  approaching  mater- 
nity. 

3.  The  inaudible  voice  of  her  unborn  child  secures  the 
home. 

Here  we  have  a  novel  phase  of  the  third  law  of  Nature. 
A  principal  in  the  Plot  is  a  child  not  yet  ushered  into  exist- 
ence. The  deftness  with  which  this  delicate  problem  is  visu- 
alized shows  the  restraint  of  a  master  hand.  The  veteran 
playwright  would  balk  at  the  problem  of  dramatizing  prenatal 
biography.  It  remains  for  the  youngest  American  dramatist 
to  treat  this  difficult  subject  with  adroit  delicacy.  And  Mr. 
Kenyon  is  a  dramatist,  since  he  has  allied  dominant  purpose 
with  emotional  appeal.  He  drives  home  his  message  by  way 
of  the  sympathies.  He  has  something  to  say  but  instead  of 
telling  it  deals  in  dramatic  pictures  that  speak  the  universal 
language  of  the  soul.  He  preaches  by  photograph,  not  parable. 
Such  words  as  are  used  have  no  brilliance  nor  distinction,  but 
for  the  most  part  his  diction  is  dramatic  by  virtue  of  the  mere 
absence  of  superfluous  words.  The  unheard  protest  of  the 
coming  generation  is  the  loudest  voice  in  the  Play. 

The  greatest  moments  of  "Kindling"  are  portrayed  in  this 
sign  language.  When  we  learn  the  sacred  facts  of  expectant 
motherhood  we  come  into  possession  of  them  without  words, 
without  a  needless  desecration  of  the  young  wife's  privacy.  A 
little  wreck  of  a  cradle  tells  the  tale;  a  thing  she  has  rescued 
from  the  ash  heap  and  treasured  as  a  hiding  place  for  the 
coming  baby's  belongings.  Students  of  dramaturgy,  mark 
well  this  master  stroke!     It  is  the  quintessence  of  technic! 

Many  such  examples  of  craftsmanship  might  be  pointed 
out  where  the  author  compels  his  audience  to  construct  the  ad- 
vancing Plot  without  oral  specifications.  After  the  little  moth- 
er has  stolen  money  for  a  western  trip  and  persuaded  her  hus- 
band she  has  borrowed  it,  she  hands  him  the  hundred  dollars 
to  purchase  transportation  with.  But  it  is  not  an  even  hun- 
dred! It  is  $113!  The  exact  sum  a  diamond  brooch  was 
pawned  for!  Here,  again,  is  an  instance  of  real  dramatic 
structure. 

242 


The DRAMATIST 

Again  the  symbol  language  is  used  with  telling  effect  when 
the  wife  is  caught  with  the  stolen  goods.  She  has  been  falsely 
accused  of  theft  for  mere  theft's  sake.  We  know  she  is  inno- 
cent. We  saw  the  professional  crook  "plant"  the  silver  in  her 
rooms  and  the  impending  doom  of  discovery  hovers  about  us 
ready  to  crack  at  a  moment's  alarm.  Some  baby  trinkets  are 
found  on  the  premises.  These  heap  evidence  on  our  poor  lit- 
tle heroine's  head.  She  did  steal  them,  but  we  know  the  reason 
why.  We  know  the  secret  of  her  approaching  maternity  and 
understand  these  whims  and  vagaries  that  accompany  that 
state.  The  theft  is  cleverly  converted  to  the  disclosure  of  this 
Plot  fact. 

To  be  sure  the  Play  has  instances  of  faulty  treatment. 
The  last  act  lapses  into  idle  moralizing  without  the  fibre  of 
valid  motive  to  sustain  it.  Even  the  detective  turns  preacher 
at  a  signal  from  the  author's  pen.  The  secondary  love  affair 
of  the  settlement  worker  and  the  slum  physician  creates  inter- 
est in  itself  but  subtracts  from  the  main  Plot  which  it  impedes. 

Taken  all  in  all  "Kindling"  is  one  of  the  structural  strides 
of  the  present  season.  It  is  a  climb  in  American  Craftsman- 
ship. Miss  Illington  and  Mr.  Bowes  are  to  be  congratulated 
in  the  choice  of  such  a  vehicle  and  in  the  courage  to  perse- 
vere until  its  production  meets  success.  New  York  may  be 
too  sophisticated  for  this  protest  from  posterity.  Chicago 
seems  to  offer  this  infant  a  better  nursery.  Success  in  art  and 
success  in  salesmanship  do  not  always  travel  hand  in  glove. 
Despite  the  game  of  publicity,  however,  this  Play  is  a  pro- 
nounced success.  It  voices  a  current  craving  for  the  hills  and 
fields,  for  fresh  and  fragrant  foliage.  It  presents  this  timely 
theme  in  a  way  that  grips  and  entertains.  It  is  the  call  of  the 
race  resounding  in  the  lusty  cry  of  the  unborn  babe ! 

THE     UNEQUAL     TRIANGLE. 
A  Dialogued  Monologue. 

Van  Tassel  Sutphen  has  written  a  clever  sketch  for  the 
February  "Smart  Set  Magazine."  A  woman,  an  invisible 
guest  and  the  voice  in  a  phonograph  comprise  the  three  charac- 
ters in  his  cast.  This  is  not  only  an  ingenious  device,  it  is 
evidence  of  a  fertile  dramatic  imagination.  It  is  another  con- 
tribution to  the  season's  sightless  and  wordless  Plays. 

All  such  innovations  are  sure  stepping  stones  to  the  sound 
principles  of  Play  Construction.  They  perform  a  definite  ser- 
vice to  the  art  of  demonstrating  the  futility  of  mere  dialog 
and  the  vitality  of  sheer  view. 

In  this  particular  instance,  the  remarkable  items  of  visuali- 
zation are  two :  the  absent  character  pictured  in  the  matrix 
of  the  speaker's  lines  and  the  artificial  person  represented  in 

243 


The DRAMATIST 

the  utterances  of  the  phonograph.  Both  clever  expedients 
accomplish  Plot  purposes  with  about  as  much  credulity  as 
the  prescribed  conditions  will  permit.  The  skit  is  well  worth 
the  reading  of  every  earnest  student  and  cannot  help  suggest- 
ing a  dozen  solutions  for  stubborn  plot  puzzles. 


A    PLAY    IN    THE    PULPIT. 
A  New  Agency  for  Uniting  Drama  and  Church. 

A  five-act  Play  in  the  sacred  altar  of  a  church,  attended  by 
clergymen,  congregation  and  sisters  of  mercy — this  would  in- 
deed sound  like  sacrilege!  No  church  would  permit  it,  you 
will  say.  It  was  recently  my  pleasure,  however,  to  witness 
this  singular  event  though  the  performance  was  conducted 
throughout  by  a  solitary  woman. 

The  church  is  ever  ready  to  extend  its  influence  to  the 
stage,  but  this  is  the  first  instance,  to  my  knowledge,  where  the 
stage  has  spread  its  gospel  in  the  church.  The  Play  was  "The 
Servant  in  the  House,"  and  the  ecclesiastical  audience  took  to 
the  text  most  kindly.  The  nuns  smiled,  the  congragation 
laughed  and  cried,  and  the  Thespian  muse  reigned  gracefully 
in  the  sanctuary.  Finally  as  the  illusion  caught  the  emotions 
of  the  spectators,  they  forgot  their  consecrated  environment 
and  gave  vent  to  their  appreciation  in  genuine  playhouse  ap- 
plause. 

This  was  a  high  tribute  to  the  excellence  of  Madame  Lab- 
adie's  artistry.  Her  quiet  charm  and  dignity  adjusted  the 
obvious  incongruity  of  an  actress  at  the  altar.  She  made  the 
Play  as  sacred  as  the  sermon  and  many  times  more  real.  For 
she  brought  the  forces  of  dramatic  conflict  to  her  aid.  Both 
church  and  stage  owe  such  an  able  interpreter  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude. She  will  do  more  to  ally  the  platforms  of  playhouse 
and  pulpit  than  all  the  pamphlets  in  print. 


LADY     PATRICIA.* 

A    Travesty    on    Marital    FidelitY. 

How  can  any  author  hope  to  win  the  respect  of  a  sane  audi- 
ence for  a  group  of  imbeciles  whose  conduct  bears  no  similar- 
ity to  the  rational  behavior  of  everyday  life?  A  Play  thrives 
upon  depicted  situations  that  might  occur  to  any  of  us.  The 
transactions  in  this  piece  could  not  overtake  us  unless  we  were 
of  the  same  lax  propensity  these  puppets  purport  to  be.  And 
most  of  us  do  not  like  even  to  imagine  such  inanities  of  our- 
selves ! 

*Duffield  &  Co.,  New  York.     Price  $i.oo. 

244 


The  DRAMATIST 

Problem. 

1.  Husband  and  wife  have  affinities. 

2.  These  soulmates  become  mutually  attached. 

3.  The  couple  are  reconciled  by  desertion. 

These  characters  are  all  abnormal  types  and  therefore  in- 
consequent to  the  average  spectator.  The  Play  has  no  commu- 
nication for  the  soul.  It  may  admit  a  hundred  mental  inter- 
pretations for  as  many  different  minds  but  no  uniform  meaning 
for  the  composite  imagination  of  a  crowd.  And  this  is  the 
province  of  drama.  Poems  and  essays  may  have  various  pos- 
sible interpretations  and  still  serve  some  individual  purpose. 
The  very  nature  of  drama  is  democratic  and  a  Play  should 
mold  the  multitude  of  minds  into  a  common  Conclusion. 

The  most  that  can  be  said  of  the  ultimate  achievement  of 
"Lady  Patricia"  is  that  she  glorifies  marital  infidelity  of  affec- 
tion. The  mechanical  comedy  and  parallel  lines  of  coincident 
merely  serve  as  adjuncts  to  this  end.  They  throw  the  spot- 
light on  conjugal  frivolity  and  in  no  sense  deplore  its  vice. 
What  possible  service  can  an  evening's  concentration  on  this 
banality  perform? 

Moral :  The  flirtations  of  married  people  are  perfectly 
harmless. 

THE     RAINBOW. 

Analyzed  on  the  Road. 

This  Play  is  a  peculiar  combination  of  three  Plots^-one 
played,  one  talked  and  a  third  merely  hinted. 

Plot  No.  I  Played. 

1.  A  daughter  has  been  separated  from  her  father, 

2.  His  evil  companions  terminate  their  happy  reunion. 

3.  He  renounces  all  for  her. 

Plot  No.  2  Talked. 

1.  A  woman's  income  is  the  secret  bounty  of  her  divorced 
husband. 

2.  She  discovers  this  magnanimity. 

3.  They  are  reconciled. 

Plot  No.  3  Hinted. 

1.  A  husband  is  divorced  for  his  evil  associates. 

2.  His  daughter  is  entrapped  by  one  of  these. 

3.  Through  mutual  alarm  the  parents  are  reconciled. 

245 


The  DRAMATIST 

Plot  number  one  is  by  far  the  most  dramatic  of  the  three. 
It  is  in  this  fragment  that  Mr.  Henry  Miller  has  his  magnifi- 
cent opportunity  of  playing  that  parental  note  so  many  of  the 
biggest  Plays  in  history  have  sounded.  In  this  instance  it  is 
the  father's  separation  from  the  daughter  he  loves.  She  must 
be  spared  the  terrible  tidings,  but  we,  in  the  audience,  know. 

Plot  number  two  is  an  entirely  spurious  story  as  it  now 
stands.  It  is  TALKED  into  the  first  Plot  in  order  to  afford 
an  extraneous  ending  to  dramatized  portions  of  the  Play.  It 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  excellent  materials  of 
Plot  number  one,  though  it  could  be  merged  if  the  circum- 
stances of  the  wife's  income  were  worked  into  the  fabric 
These  are  recited  by  characters  who  have  no  other  motive  than 
the  author's  mechanical  emergency. 

Plot  number  three  starts  off  with  an  episode  that  opens  the 
first  Act  wherein  we  find  one  of  the  husband's  friends  has 
shamefully  pursued  a  girl  who  wishes  to  do  the  right  thing. 
This  episode  is  foreign  to  both  other  Plots  and  serves  no  tem- 
porary purpose,  even.  It  could  be  eliminated  bodily  without 
marring  the  interpretation  of  the  Play  in  the  least.  On  the 
other  hand  it  could  be  availed  in  the  third  Plot  if  the  same 
rogue  were  to  finally  attract  the  cherished  daughter  of  the 
pair  and  thus  enlist  their  joint  solicitude  for  their  sacred 
charge. 

Of  course  it  is  not  fair  to  criticize  a  Play  that  is  still  in  the 
process  of  building.  We  are  not  doing  this.  Our  analysis 
applies  to  the  present  worth  of  the  Play  as  it  appeared  upon 
its  fourth  performance.  Changes  are  continually  being  made, 
no  doubt,  and  we  trust  many  of  the  above  contradictions  may 
be  eliminated. 

The  lowering  of  the  curtain  in  Act  I  can  be  readily  dis- 
posed of.  The  European  excursion  of  the  entire  family  in  Act 
III  is  as  false  as  it  is  fruitless.  The  father  may  fight  his  bat- 
tles right  here  at  home.  He  need  not  go  to  war  in  Costa 
Rica  to  become  a  martyr.  His  battle  should  take  place  before 
our  eyes  that  we  may  be  convinced  of  his  change  of  heart  and 
his  approaching  fitness  for  fatherhood. 

A  composite  of  Plots  one  and  two  is  the  best  revision  we 
can  suggest  and  these  can  be  merged  into  a  single-centered 
Plot  presenting  all  the  Conflict  Conditions  to  the  eye  of  the 
spectator.  We  should  not  HEAR  one  essential  and  SEE  an- 
other. This  renders  conviction  uneven,  just  as  in  the  present 
form  of  the  Play  we  SEE  the  Good  Samaritan  at  the  start  and 
refuse  to  believe  ill  of  him  from  mere  hearsay  afterward. 
All  of  the  evidence  that  counts  in  the  case  should  be  brought 
before  the  court  that  the  dramatic  verdict  may  be  unanimous. 

246 


The DRAMATIST 

This  analysis  was  made  from  a  preliminary  try-out  in  Eas- 
ton.  The  episode  that  opened  the  first  act  was  eliminated  be- 
fore the  play  reached  New  York,  in  compliance  with  our  criti- 
cizm. 

THE    FATTED    CALF. 
Solicits  Sympathy  for  Insane  Heroine. 

In  an  argument  with  the  editor  Mr.  Hopkins  contended 
that  his  Play  is  five  years  ahead  of  the  times.  He  declares  that 
American  taste  has  not  reached  that  German  standard  wherein 
dramatic  interest  is  not  dependent  upon  sympathetic  interest. 

Can  you  agree  with  him?  Do  you  believe  that  the  time 
has  come  in  any  country,  or  that  it  will  ever  come,  when  purely 
intellectual  interest  can  hold  an  audience?  We  do  not.  This 
is  the  antithesis  of  dramatic  entertainment.  The  appeal  is 
democratic,  always,  and  deals  with  our  feelings,  not  our  intel- 
lects. We  therefore  disagree  with  Mr.  Hopkins  in  the  diagno- 
sis of  his  fate  and  will  proceed  to  illustrate  that  it  is  this  very 
element  he  scorns  which  defeats  him.  It  is  this  feature  of  ar- 
rested sympathy  that  kills  "The  Fatted  Calf." 

Our  compassion  is  solicited  for  an  insane  heroine  whom  the 
author  selects  as  a  wife  for  a  normal  lover.  He  proceeds  to 
cure  this  ailment  by  a  treatment  of  hypnotism.  As  a  crowd  we 
do  not  believe  that  there  is  any  permanent  cure  for  this  mal- 
ady. The  mere  suggestion  of  the  taint  devitalizes  that  fervent 
sympathy  we  should  have  for  the  main  character  of  the  Plot. 
Our  interest  flags  from  the  first  and  cannot  be  revived  by  any 
possible  theory  of  a  psychological  remedy.  The  very  basis  of 
sympathy  has  been  undermined. 

The  possibilities  of  this  piece  lie  in  its  clever  ridicule  of  the 
over-indulgence  of  fond  parents.  The  author  would  do  well 
to  confine  his  Conflict  to  this  satire.  This  and  the  pathological 
clinic  do  not  blend  or  harmonize.  It  is  a  slender  fragment  of 
sincere  purpose  submerged  in  a  sea  of  farce.  In  this  sense  the 
Play  is  a  paradox.  It  defeats  the  very  purpose  it  sets  out  to 
attain.  It  laughs  at  its  own  endeavor.  The  native  denoue- 
ment turns  the  tables  on  the  perpetrators  and  makes  them  vic- 
tims of  their  own  perverted  pessimism.  Confined  to  this  far- 
cial  effect  "The  Fatted  Calf"  might  have  rivalled  that  lusty 
heifer  of  "Mother  Goose"  fame.  The  "moon"  of  the  present 
season  is  a  hard  one  to  hurdle. 

THREE      BOOKS      FOR      P  L  A  Y  B  U  I  L  D  E  R  S. 

Moses,  Pollock  and  Ibsen. 
Three  books  that  may  enhance  the  value  of  any  play- 
wright's workshop  are  "The  American  Dramatist"'  by  Mont- 
rose J.  Moses,  "Footlights  Fore  and  Aft"-  by  Channing  Pol- 
lock, and  "From  Ibsen's  Workshop"^  a  collection  of  Ibsen's 
notes,  plots,  scenarios  and  manuscripts. 

247 


The DRAMATIST 

"The  American  Dramatist"^  contains  many  helpful  hints 
for  the  young  writer.  It  can  be  recommended  as  one  of  the 
best  guides  extant  in  the  matter  of  selecting  theme  and  mate- 
rial for  a  Play.  What  the  American  audience  demands,  says 
Mr.  Moses  is  a  square  deal.  The  large  heart  rather  than  the 
subtle  one,  the  direct  deed  rather  than  the  elusive  thought,  and 
the  terse  answer  rather  than  the  veiled  meaning."  Read  Mr. 
Moses'  book.    It  is  a  sincere  contribution  to  the  subject. 

"Footlights  Fore  and  Aft"-  introduces  the  tyro  to  the  mys- 
teries of  the  stage,  the  box  office  and  the  royalty  ledger.  It  is 
the  experience  of  one  of  our  keenest  American  critics  who  has 
substantiated  his  double  right  to  that  title  by  practical  demon- 
strations of  successful  play  composition.  "  'What  a  lucky  fel- 
low, we  say  occasionally  of  some  new  author  who  springs  into 
notice.  'His  first  Play  and  a  huge  success' !  But  every  profes- 
sional reader  in  town  could  tell  you  that  this  success  wasn't  his 
first  play.' "  In  this  chatty  vein  Mr.  Pollock  turns  out  a  great 
many  truths  that  may  amuse  and  interest  the  student. 

"From  Ibsen's  Workshop"^  requires  little  comment.  The 
fact  that  it  contains  the  actual  notes  set  down  by  the  indomita- 
ble master  who  has  done  more  than  any  one  dramatist  to  re- 
model the  art  of  present-day-playwriting,  sufficiently  endorses 
this  valuable  book.  The  translations  are  excellent  and  the 
publishers  incur  our  lasting  gratitude  for  making  this  work 
available  in  our  language.  The  study  of  his  progressive  steps 
of  structure  is  a  liberal  education  in  itself. 

^Little  Brown  and  Company.    $2.50. 
-Richard  K.  Badger.    $1.50. 
^Scribner's.    $1.25. 

THE    PEARL. 

Fourth  Version. 

In  the  January  issue  a  fourth  version  of  "The  Pearl"  was 
asked  for  and  many  revisions  were  forwarded.  None  of  these 
have  been  found  sufficiently  strong  in  the  climatic  moment 
which  is  the  specific  thing  wanted.  Some  excellent  scenes  are 
among  these  contributions  and  one  entirely  new  situation  is 
suggested.  We  will  print  the  latter  as  it  came  in  and  ask  for  a 
truer  dramatization  of  the  thought  contained. 

(To  Jimmie)  Wife. 

Ah !  But  you  came  to  me  in  a  time  of  need !  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  Clara  had  come  to  answer  my  advertisement.  I  had 
been  asking  her  a  few  questions  when  suddenly  she  said  to 
me :  'Ah  madame,  I  feel  so  faint'  and  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet. 
I  was  distracted.    I  placed  her  on  the  sofa.    My  heart  went  out 

248 


The  DRAMATIST 

to  her.  But  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Just  at  that  moment, 
the  door  bell  rang.    I  rushed  to  the  door  and  there  you  stood, 

and  your  very  first  words  were :  "I  am  a  physician "    I  did 

not  even  wait  to  hear  the  rest  of  your  sentence.  Do  you  re- 
member? I  rushed  you  right  into  the  room.  What  must  you 
have  thought  of  me? 

JIMMIE. — Ah,  madame,  we  physicians  become  used  to 
such  hurry  calls. 

WIFE. — Now,  tell  me,  how  did  you  happen  to  come  to  my 
door  at  that  very  moment? 

JIMMIE. — (Hesitates).  I  was  looking  for  rooms  in  the 
neighborhood.  . .  .your  house  attracted  me.  .  .  .and.  . .  . 

As  this  speech  now  stands  it  is  reeled  off  in  a  breath,  al- 
most. It  should  be  worked  out  into  dialog  so  that  each  line 
take  its  origin  in  the  one  preceding  it  and  the  whole  be  en- 
dowed with  cause.  Why  does  the  woman  say  all  this?  The 
author's  purpose  is  sound  and  sane  but  it  must  be  motivated 
into  the  characters.  The  value  of  the  episode  is  its  effect  upon 
Clara.  She  is  sitting  there  chafing  under  Jimmie's  threat.  If 
she  forsakes  him  now,  he  will  have  his  revenge.  But  Clara  is 
half  disposed  to  "throw  up  the  job"  because  of  her  waking  love 
for  the  lady.  Think  how  this  recounting  of  the  ruse  (with 
Jimmie  nursing  the  poor  woman's  delusion)  could  be  used  to 
stimulate  Clara's  dawning  distaste  for  crime.  And  it  is  a  legi- 
timate part  of  the  Playlet.  We  want  to  know  how  these  crooks 
got  in  the  place.  It  would  be  TELLING  to  recite  the  thing, 
but  here  it  can  be  utilized  to  help  fix  Clara's  purpose.  We  in- 
vite all  opinions  and  versions  of  the  Scene.  State  definitely 
where  you  think  your  suggestions  should  be  inserted. 

We  still  lack  a  development  of  the  dominating  purpose; 
that  spark  of  gratitude  kindled  in  the  girl's  soul  by  disinter- 
ested kindness.  None  of  the  skits  submitted  contained  the 
proper  temper  of  this  climax.  From  a  composite  of  various 
fragments  sent  in,  we  have  prepared  a  draft  for  an  ending  that 
should  make  a  fitting  conclusion.  Viz.:  Let  the  girl  proceed 
much  as  she  does  in  the  January  score,  tossing  the  pearl  to  the 
woman  and  making  her  exit.  She  returns.  She  cannot  go 
now.  Jimmie  threatened  her.  He  meant  what  he  said.  Where 
is  her  plunder?  The  wife  now  comes  to  the  rescue  and  offers 
the  girl  a  refuge.  She  accepts.  The  reclamation  is  accom- 
plished as  far  as  a  one-act  Play  can  do  the  work.  This  sketch 
is  to  be  presented  at  the  Hotel  Astor  in  April.  Please  forward 
your  suggestions  promptly.  The  fourth  version  will  be  printed 
in  full  in  the  July  issue. 


349 


D       R 


M 


A   letter  from   Charles  Rann  Kennedy, 
author  of  "The  Servant  in  the  House." 


257  WEST  86ia  STREET 
NEW  YORK 


March  30,  lOlSf. 
Dear  Sir, 

I  consider  T3S  D2A^!ATIST,  edited  "by  tuther 
B.  Anthony,  the  best  publication  I  h.ave  yet 
seen,  for  educating  young--and  for  that  natter, 
old  -  playwrights,  in  th3  principles  of  their 
craf ti  1  have  read  eve^y  nunber  froa  the  be- 
ginning; and  it  has  been  of  the  greatest  as- 
sistance^ to  tae  technically*  I  have  learned  a 
good  deal  froa^it." 

It  should  be  in  tho-haftds  of  every  student 
of  the  nodem  drana,  who  is  really  serious 
about. his  work;  and  also  I  think  it  shouid 
find  a  place  in  the  libraries  of  the  country. 
Lain,  dear  Sir, 

Tours  very  sincerely. 


CitfWry*   A^fci.  siruufTc 


For  criticism  of  your  own  Play,  consult  the  Playwriting 
Department. 


i 


250 


The  DRAMATIST 


LUTHER  B.  ANTHONY.  Editor 

Vol.  Ill                            EASTON,  PA. 

No.  4 

QUARTERLY                            1912 

JULY 

What  is  Technic? 


The  average  amateur  looks  upon  Technic  as  a  token  of  all 
that  is  tedious  and  immaterial-  He  fears  that  too  much  tech- 
nical equipment  will  mar  his  originality.  Let  us  glance  behind 
the  dictionary  definition  for  the  fuller  meaning  of  the  word. 

Technic  is  the  method  of  performance  in  any  art.  In  its  last 
analysis  it  is  that  means  by  which  an  author's  message  is  in- 
terpreted to  his  audience  in  stage  illustrations. 

To  attain  Technic,  therefore,  is  merely  to  facilitate  inter- 
pretation-  It  is  employing  tools  to  perfect  the  work  crudely 
performed  by  the  bare  hands.  Instead  of  restricting  talent  it 
intensifies  the  fruits  of  fancy, 

A  Technic  that  hinders  is  merely  a  misnamed  dogma.  And 
while  no  amount  of  instruction  will  remedy  the  defect  where 
there  is  a  lack  of  constructive  ingenuity,  nevertheless,  a  clearer 
knowledge  of  the  thing  to  be  achieved  cannot  fail  to  be  of  ser- 
vice. 

Our  effort  in  these  pages  is  to  enunciate  the  general  theo- 
ries of  Technic  by  practical  application  to  the  Plays  you  may 
see  and  read.  In  this  way  we  may  avoid  unorganized  generali- 
zations. In  every  instance  our  analyses  are  deduced  from  sim- 
ple first  pxrindplcs. 

Moral :   Apprehend  the  WHY  ! 

251 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE     MODEL. 
Thomas  Returns  to  Technic. 

As  dramatists  advance  in  fortune  they  frequently  retreat  in 
technical  restraint.  This  has  been  the  case  with  Ibsen,  Shaw, 
Strindberg,  Jones,  Pinero,  Sudermann,  Brieux  and  Thomas. 
Clyde  Fitch  was  the  single  exception,  "The  Model"  was  writ- 
ten before  "The  Harvest  Moon"  or  "As  a  Man  Thinks"  and  it 
may  be  for  this  reason  the  Play  is  more  a  Play  and  less  a 
preachment.  It  is  less  an  appeal  to  consciousness  through  the 
intellect  and  more  an  approach  to  the  emotions  through  the 
senses.  It  is  less  a  theorem  in  psychic  phenomena  and  more 
fundamentally  a  problem  oiF  life. 

It  is  difficult  to  teach  the  intellectual  dramatist  that  he  can- 
not carry  his  audience  with  him.  He  lives  in  his  mind  and  be- 
lieves we  do.  The  audience  lives  largely  in  its  emotional  shell. 
Ninety  percent  of  all  thought  is  subconscious  and  the  true  pro- 
cess of  communicating  a  Conflict  to  the  composite  crowd  is 
through  this  channel. 

The  true  process  of  composition  is  likewise  subconscious. 
The  dramatist  merely  connects  the  wires  of  these  spontaneous 
flashes  and  lets  the  creative  current  flow.  The  danger  of  ex- 
ploited wisdom  in  pla5rwriting  then,  is  the  perversion  of  the 
medium  of  the  art- 
Problem  : 

1.  A  novelist  advises  a  friend  to  seduce  his  model 

2.  The  model  proves  to  be  the  novelist's  daughter. 

3.  He  withdraws  his  advice  and  revises  his  morality. 
Here  is  a  Conflict  involving  a  vital  tug  at  the  parental 

heartstrings — the  third  law  of  nature.  It  makes  no  demand  on 
the  intellectual  muscles  and  carries  conviction  with  multiplied 
force.  Mr.  Thomas  is  fortunate  to  revert  to  this  si>ecimen  of 
his  earlier  craftsmanship.  It  is  a  lesson  from  his  own  works. 
It  may  check  his  recent  tendency  toward  the  thesis  Play.  If 
he  confines  his  efforts  to  vital  problems  he  may  hold  his  herit- 
age as  the  lineal  successor  to  Fitch.  If  he  soars  aloof  into  the 
realm  of  hazy  mysticism  he  can  only  exit  from  the  portals  of 
his  arL 

ARIZONA. 
The  Top  Notch  of  Thomas  Technic. 
After  treating  of  "The  Model"  as  Mr.  Thomas's  later  re- 
vision of  an  early  manuscript  it  is  well  to  go  back  to  the  early 
tj^pe  of  his  pla)rwriting  to  trace  that  virility  so  lacking  in  such 
efforts  as  "The  Harvest  Moon"  and  "As  a  Man  Thinks." 

Problem  No.  i : 

1.  A  wife  is  caught  eloping  with  a  cad- 

2.  The  cad  throws  suspicion  on  an  innocent  man. 

3.  The  wife  clears  the  latter  by  confessing  the  truth. 

252 


The  DRAMATIST 

Problem  No.  2 : 

1.  A  lover  kills  the  seducer  of  his  sweetheart. 

2.  The  seducer  throws  suspicion  on  an  innocent  man. 

3.  The  lover  confesses  to  the  murder. 

This  double  story  tendency  is  a  strain  that  pervades  all  of 
Mr.  Thomas'  work.  It  is  seldom  that  he  strikes  two  Plots  so 
similar  in  Cause  and  so  completely  rounded  within  the  time 
limits  of  one  performance.  The  third  and  fourth  Plots  con- 
tained in  this  manuscript  are  of  minor  disturbance.  All  three 
biplots  are  made  interdependent  in  a  way  but  still  they  mar  the 
economy  of  interest.  Simplicity  is  the  keynote  of  good  con- 
struction and  divided  interest  cannot  possibly  concentrate  ef- 
fect 

"The  Model"  pursues  this  same  tendency  in  a  lesser  degree. 
The  first  story  is  more  centralized.  In  "Arizona"  an  entire 
Act  is  taken  up  with  the  subsidiary  Plot  so  that  the  Play  pro- 
per is  meantime  obliterated. 

On  the  whole,  however,  few  Plays  hold  their  own  so  faith- 
fully. It  has  old  fashioned  notions  of  vicarious  suffering,  mock 
martyrdom,  inflated  diction  and  the  premature  recitation  of 
events  to  come.  But  tlie  situations  based  upon  these  obsolete 
ingredients  are  thrilling  and  suspensive.  Relatively  they  are 
as  strong  as  the  best  moments  in  "The  Model"  and  undoubt- 
edly surpass  "The  Harvest  Moon"  or  "As  a  Man  Thinks"  for 
anything  truly  dramatic 

It  is  for  this  reason  we  welcome  Mr.  Thomas'  return  to 
technic  His  best  contributions  to  dramatic  literature  are 
remnants  of  the  past.  It  is  in  the  modern  application  of  this 
former  force  that  his  promise  lies.  To  emulate  Ibsen  or  Shaw 
is  the  worst  pace  he  can  set  for  himself  and  for  his  practical 
playwriting  proclivities.  More  drama,  Mr.  Thomas,  and  less 
psychology ! 

THE  GOVERNOR'S  LADY. 

A  New  Type  of  Divorcee. 

Problem : 

1.  A  politician  would  divorce  his  old-fashioned  wife. 

2.  She  intercepts  his  betrothal  to  a  younger  woman, 

3.  The  couple  are  re-united- 

A  glance  at  this  digest  of  the  Play  will  show  that  Alice 
Bradley  has  chosen  a  timely  moral  if  not  a  deeply  vital  dra- 
matic theme.  If  divorce  is  more  vital  to  women  than  to  men 
it  nevertheless  serves  its  theatric  purpose  as  a  drawing  card. 
In  an  era  when  a  true  wife  is  tossed  aside  with  as  much  indif- 
ference as  an  old  glove  it  is  well  that  we  have  a  Play  to  turn 
the  searchlight  on  the  sorrows  of  this  cruel  system. 

The  source  of  appeal  in  this  Conflict  is  our  sympathy  for 
a  life  mate  who  is  to  be  deserted  for  a  younger  woman.  And 
it  is  here  the  Author  shows  her  utmost  skill.     The  character 

253 


The DRAMATIST 

of  the  capricious  little  wife  is  drawn  with  rare  fidelity  and 
force.  The  restraint  with  which  the  husband's  intentions  are 
withheld  from  her  forms  the  highest  pitch  in  the  Plot.  The 
crux  of  this  situation  is  the  keenest  craftsmanship  in  the  Play. 
It  may  be  classed  with  the  best  Scene  building  done  by  Ameri- 
can  women. 

The  Plot  as  a  whole  is  not  clearly  conceived.  Its  purpose 
is  not  concentrated.  There  are  several  bypaths  to  mislead  us 
at  the  start.  For  two  whole  Acts  a  political  intrigue  promises 
to  form  the  Play.  The  wife's  divorce  is  feared  only  as  a  scan- 
dal that  might  defeat  the  husband's  political  prospects.  It 
would  seem  that  the  author  originally  intended  to  make  this 
her  Conflict  but  abandoned  it  as  the  better  idea  presented. 
This  better  Plot  is  the  problem  above  given.  It  takes  birth  to- 
wards the  end  of  Act  II  and  dissolves  the  earlier  effusion. 

The  political  element  is  purely  abstract  and  should  be  ade- 
quately subordinated.  It  was  needed  to  show  the  husband's 
ambition  for  a  more  fashionable  helpmate.  It  is  atmosphere. 
But  the  prominence  given  it  makes  it  appear  a  fundamental 
feature. 

Another  b3rpath  in  Plot  is  the  young  attorney's  tribula- 
tions. For  lack  of  motivation  he  is  the  Author's  undisguised 
instrument.  He  is  plunged  into  the  love  interest  without  his 
own  consent  merely  to  serve  as  a  quick  recruit  at  the  climax. 
On  the  other  hand,  this  attorney  threatens  to  create  a  new  Con- 
flict by  his  voluntary  attack  on  the  husband  and  so  we  digress 
from  one  false  promise  to  another,  betraying  the  credulity  of 
the  Audience. 

In  the  brief  space  of  time  allotted  for  an  evening's  enter- 
tainment there  is  barely  opportunity  for  the  promotion  of  one 
valid,  progressive  line  of  Plot  development-  These  diffusing 
elements  merely  make  for  instability. 

The  fourth  Act  is  labeled  an  epilog.  Analysis  is  therefore 
disarmed.  No  one  would  wish  to  deny  David  Belasco  his  pen- 
chant for  naturalism.  His  scenic  fac-simile  of  a  restaurant  is 
at  once  Child's.  No  higher  tribute  can  be  paid  this  consum- 
mate bit  of  stage  painting.  A  word  to  the  novice,  however, 
who  might  deign  to  emulate  this  example,  let  him  be  sure  that 
he  has  a  wizard  to  work  his  wonder.  At  best  these  effects  sub- 
tract from  the  Play  proper,  and  only  an  exacting  genius  like 
Belasco  can  make  a  merit  of  the  defect. 

Of  course  these  notes  are  based  upon  the  preliminary  per- 
formances of  the  Play.  Before  Mr.  Belasco  permits  a  Metro- 
politan premiere  coxmtless  changes  will  be  made. 

254 


The DRAMATIST 

BUNTY  PULLS  THE  STRINGS. 
The  Epitome  of  Conflict. 

In  the  various  reviews  of  this  play  much  has  been  said  to 
the  effect  that  it  is  not  really  a  Play.  And  yet  the  dominant 
note  of  the  piece  is  Conflict.  Conflict  abounds  in  every  fibre 
of  its  substance.     And  is  not  Conflict  the  epitome  of  Drama? 

Dramaturgic  weakness  is  not  its  absence  of  dramatic  es- 
sence. It  is  the  fact  that  this  essence  is  diffused,  not  concen- 
trated. There  are  no  two  qualified  opponents  in  the  Conflict. 
Different  factions  fight  out  their  individual  differences  at  cross 
purposes  with  the  Plot. 

A  main  struggle  is  not  built  up  between  Bunty  and  her 
father,  or  Bunty  and  her  family,  or  her  family  and  the  father, 
or  the  father  and  his  prosecutor,  or  the  female  suitor  and  the 
widower,  or  the  forsaken  sweetheart  and  her  mercenary  rival. 
The  piece  is  the  accidental  admixture  of  all  these  scraps,  minus 
a  paramount  purpose.  An  abstract  syllogism  might  be  offered 
as  follows: 

Problem : 

1.  A  father  rules  his  household  by  the  kirk's  laws. 

2.  His  daughter  discovers  his  dishonesty. 

3.  She  assumes  command  in  the  home. 

This  represents  the  outer  boundary  of  the  Play.  But  there 
are  a  dozen  minor  syllogisms.  These  fragmentary  incidents 
should  be  subjugated  to  a  controlling  Conflict,  and  each  be 
made  a  tributary  to  the  Plot  that  depicts  them.  In  their  pres- 
ent state  the  parts  all  have  equal  value,  so  that  structurally 
they  do  not  supplement  one  another  to  compose  one  organic 
whole. 

An  isolated  example  of  rare  Scene-building  is  Bunty's  in- 
ventory of  the  homely  virtues  of  her  father's  fiancee.  Mr. 
Moffat  conducts  this  domestic  court  martial  with  homely 
sagacity,  but  fails  to  fit  it  into  the  cogs  of  Plot.  He  has  a  keen 
sense  of  homely  wit  and  humor.  He  lacks  a  clear  vision  of  the 
whole,  that  last  attainment  in  the  art  of  dramaturgy. 

Then  what  is  the  secret  of  our  great  delight  in  "Bunty?" 
If  we  trace  it  to  its  origin  our  pride  is  rudely  shocked.  For  the 
chief  force  of  its  humor  is  the  license  allowed  us  to  deride  our 
ovm  religion  thmly  veiled  by  a  winsome  dialect.  We  scream 
at  the  artless  antics  of  these  infants  in  their  ultra-orthodox 
piety.  But  beneath  it  is  the  stupidity  of  a  blind  faith  that  pro- 
vokes our  mirth.  This  is  our  chief  source  of  delight  in  a  nut- 
shell. 

And  here  we  have  a  refutation  of  an  old  fallacy  that  relig- 
ious topics  are  taboo  for  the  stage.  It  requires  the  canny 
Scot  to  prepare  this  dainty  dish  of  infidelity.    It  is  a  toothsome 

255 


DRAM 


import  for  th€  most  devout,  and  in  the  last  analysis  a  bur- 
lesque of  worship  poking  pious  fun  at  faith.  What  does  it 
mean?  Are  we  all  infidels  by  proxy?  Shades  of  Ingersoll! 
how  the  ghost  of  old  "Bob"  must  snicker ! 


THE     GREYHOUND. 
Clever  Dime  Novel  Drama. 

It  is  impossible  to  reduce  this  interesting  series  of  implau- 
sible episodes  to  a  consistent  syllogism.  It  is  not  a  Play.  It 
is  a  dime  novel  melodrama  done  into  a  comic  opera  book  with- 
out words.  Its  characters  are  as  impossible  as  its  incidents. 
We  never  take  them  seriously.  Its  suicides  and  crimes  are  as 
preposterous  as  the  tick  of  the  clock  in  the  crocodile's  belly. 

Its  chief  merit  is  that  it  is  never  dull  or  doleful.  The  mor- 
bid lure  of  the  underworld  obscures  our  sense  of  perverted 
moral  These  crooks  whose  only  rightful  place  is  prison,  seem 
fascinating  fellows  And  the  millionaires  they  victimize  really 
glory  in  their  loss. 

Mr.  Armstrong  preserves  his  past  record  for  loose  logic.  A 
convention  of  crooks  in  a  woman's  private  bed  room,  a  congre- 
gation of  the  entire  cast  on  board  the  same  ship ;  these  are  tri- 
fles in  the  author's  library  of  stem  probabilities. 

But  there  is  one  feature  of  progress  in  this  Play.  The  thing 
is  not  offered  in  a  serious  vein.  It  makes  no  pretense  at  real- 
ity. Taken  as  a  flight  of  fancy  or  a  fairy  tale,  the  fable  works 
little  mischief.  Its  only  evil  is  for  those  who  make  a  meaning 
of  their  own. 


PRESERVING    MR.    PANMURE. 
Two  Distinct  and  Unrelated  Plays. 

Problem : 

I.     A  husband  kisses  his  daughter's  governess, 
2-     A  young  man  assumes  the  blame. 
3.     She  marries  him. 

The  last  Act  in  this  piece  is  a  skit  in  itself,  totally  discon- 
nected from  the  Play  itself.  The  first  three  Acts  practically 
comprise  the  play,  for  Mr.  Panmure's  fate  ceases  to  be  a  prob- 
lem in  the  fourth  appendage. 

That  Mr.  Pinero  is  put  to  such  an  extremity  to  eke  out  a 
comedy  is  one  of  the  saddest  signs  of  the  Play  paucity  in  the 
present  season.  This  is  by  far  the  worst  specimen  he  has  per- 
petrated in  recent  years.  It  will  go  far  towards  turning  the  at- 
tention of  American  managers  from  imported  products. 

256 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  London  trademark  is  no  longer  a  patent  promise  of 
New  York  success.  Nor  should  this  be  the  guide.  The  slow, 
stolid  nature  of  the  British  type  is  no  safe  measure  for  the 
active,  impulsive  American  spectator. 

But  there  are  some  dashes  of  dramatic  deftness  not  to  be 
ignored,  even  though  the  structure  as  a  whole  is  a  failure.  The 
second  act  is  exemplary  comedy  with  every  evidence  of  the 
author's  practiced  hand.  The  situation  where  Panmure  holds 
an  inquest  to  detect  the  culprit  is  funny.  But  this  only  em- 
phasizes the  banalities  of  the  other  Acts.  The  first  is  muddled 
boredom,  and  the  third  is  aimless  and  absurd.  Where  is  the 
trace  of  that  exquisite  treatment  displayed  in  "The  Thunder- 
bolt?" 

THE    TALKER. 

A  Fierce  Thrust  at  Frivolity. 

Technically  it  is  a  truth  that  "THE  TALKER"  is  TALK. 
It  begins  by  attempting  to  talk  the  audience  into  possession  of 
the  Plot  and  ends  failing  to  materialize  one  of  the  principals. 
The  "Heavy  Villain"  remains  merely  a  topic  of  conversation. 

Problem : 

1.  A  wife  pretends  to  advocate  free  love. 

2.  Her  sister  puts  this  theory  into  practice. 

3.  The  wife  regrets  her  loose  conduct  and  reclaims  the 
girl. 

As  an  emotional  agent  "The  Talker"  is  easily  one  of  the 
most  vital  plays  of  the  season.  It  aims  a  fierce  thrust  at  friv- 
olity. Crude  in  parts  it  gives  promise  of  a  play^vright,  with  a 
keen  sense  of  dramatic  material.  Marion  Fairfax  has  a  fair 
endowment  of  this  precious  faculty  for  touching  the  well- 
springs  of  emotion. 

She  has  not  made  up  her  mind,  however,  that  all  of  the 
Play  may  be  played.  Some  of  the  essentials  of  Plot  are  omit- 
ted or  obscured  by  talk  while  frequently  mere  incidents  are 
visualized  in  detail. 

One  flagrant  example  of  the  first  offense  is  the  Play's  open- 
ing. An  attempt  to  show  the  wife's  flirtation  and  the  sister's 
fascination  with  a  libertine  is  discussed  at  much  length  by 
three  women  whose  identities  are  not  clearly  established.  We 
do  not  know  that  they  are  wife,  sister-in-law  and  neighbor  for 
the  reason  that  they  are  not  brought  into  explanatory  con- 
tact with  those  who  might  portray  these  relationships.  At  like 
emergencies  all  through  Acts  I  and  II  the  program  comes  to 
the  rescue. 

257 


DRAM 


The  Play  is  not  allowed  to  end  when  the  Conclusion  is 
reached.  A  secondary  denouement  is  appended.  Truckling 
to  the  tradition  that  everything  must  end  happily,  a  sequel  to 
the  young  girl's  vicissitudes  is  hatched  up.  Her  former  lover 
is  required  to  default  so  that  he  may  be  degraded  to  her  moral 
plane  and  their  union  is  promised. 

But  despite  these  structural  errors,  the  Play  makes  a  vivid 
impression  and  deserves  marked  praise  for  uniting  good  enter- 
tainment with  a  moral  purpose.    It  teaches  something. 

THE     VOYSEY     INHERITANCE. 
A  Satire  on  Financial  Confidence. 
Problem : 

1.  A  boy  inherits  the  insolvent  business  of  his  father. 

2.  He  attempts  to  continue  to  pay  off  helpless  creditors. 
3. 

As  indicated  above  there  is  no  third  clause  to  form  a  Con- 
clusion, The  crisis  is  reached  when  the  boy  discloses  his 
Father's  bequest  of  fraud  to  his  family.  At  this  point  Mr. 
Barker  challenges  the  intricate  character  analysis  of  Pinero  in 
"The  Thunderbolt."  The  Scene  rings  true  with  reality.  But 
Mr.  Barker  is  forever  analyzing.  He  vivisects  every  angle  of 
emotion  until  the  piece  becomes  more  clinic  than  Play. 

Attached  to  this  Conflict  is  the  love  story  of  a  girl  who  eggs 
on  the  hero  to  risk  imprisonment  to  discharge  the  debt.  Their 
betrothal  is  hitched  on  as  a  Conclusion  to  the  Play  proper.  In 
reality  it  is  an  arbitrary  ending  of  the  author's  isolated 
thought. 

From  page  84  to  go  we  are  invited  to  review  a  lot  of  effects 
without  causes.  The  boy  is  disturbed  about  something.  We 
are  merely  told  that  he  is  upset.  The  dramatic  method  of 
showing  his  concern  by  the  cause  itself  is  not  used.  The 
author  presumably  thinks  the  mystery  stronger  than  the  fact; 
to  arouse  our  curiosity  is  more  potent  than  to  supply  the  in- 
gredients of  suspense. 

But  if  Act  I  is  boredom,  Act  II  is  sound  asleep!  Items  of 
ordinary  life  are  emphasized  while  Plot  essentials  are  ignored. 
On  page  122  a  Plot  hint  escapes.  We  learn  that  a  client  has 
all  his  savings  invested  in  the  firm.  On  129  we  have  more  reci- 
tation of  the  father's  system  of  misappropriation  but  no  pic- 
ture. 

A  single  incident,  a  solitary  application  from  a  defrauded 
customer  for  the  principal  of  his  interest  and  the  manifest  in- 
ability of  the  father  to  produce  would  be  the  dramatization  of 
what  now  transpires  in  TALK.  In  the  place  of  testimony  we 
would  have  evidence,  in  the  place  of  hearsay,  a  dramatic  fact. 

258 


The DRAMATIST 

Act  III  finds  us  at  the  father's  funeral  without  the  consent 
of  Plot.  His  death  happens  between  acts  from  no  cause  con- 
sistent with  the  Conflict  There  is  considerable  mock  martyr- 
dom here.  The  boy  entertains  fears  of  imprisonment  without 
the  slightest  provocation.  He  will  commit  a  felony  to  solace 
his  sweetheart's  vague  ideals  of  altruism.  The  Play  makes  no 
demand  for  this.    It  is  the  conception  of  a  brand  new  Conflict. 

In  Act  IV  we  begin  to  drift.  The  Plot  roams  helplessly 
and  we  are  undecided  whether  Edward  is  crooked  or  straight. 
One  thing  certain.  His  business  experience,  to  our  know- 
ledge, does  not  warrant  faith  in  his  ability  to  carry  out  an 
enormous  scheme.  The  manipulation  of  this  enterprise  was 
all  his  crafty  father  could  manage,  and  he  had  passed  an  ap- 
prenticeship. The  boy  is  utterly  without  instruction  in  this 
crooked  craft.  Pages  174  to  183  attribute  some  clever  dis- 
course to  old  Booth  and  the  boy.  This  Scene  would  have  con- 
siderable merit  if  there  were  any  semblance  of  premise  to  rest 
upon. 

A  stupid  family  conference  consumes  most  of  the  Fifth 
Act.  Why  these  domestic  details  should  obtrude  is  not  ex- 
plained. Possibly  some  veiled  notion  of  atmosphere  dictated 
them.  What  we  expect  is  further  development  of  the  misap- 
propriation Plot.  We  do  not  find  that  the  boy  has  succeeded  in 
paying  off  lessor  creditors,  and  the  trumped  up  prospect  of  im- 
prisonment is  abruptly  dropped.  The  colloquy  between  lovers 
is  anything  but  a  conclusion  to  the  first  Conflict.  Perhaps  the 
author  has  some  hidden  meaning  of  his  own.  Of  what  avail 
if  it  conveys  no  composite  moral  to  the  subconscious  crowd? 
Its  mysterious  message  is  essay,  not  Drama. 

Note:  These  Plays  are  published  in  one  volume  by 
Mitchell  Kennedy,  New  York.  Price  $1.50.  The  book  also 
contains  another  play  by  the  same  author,  "Ann  Leete." 

WASTE.* 
A  Manager-Made  Play. 

We  are  always  clamoring  for  more  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  stage  for  the  student.  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  too  much 
theatrical  training  for  the  tyro?  Mr.  Barker's  earnest  at- 
tempts at  Playwriting  would  seem  to  say  so.  Here  is  a  dra- 
matist who  is  at  the  same  time  actor,  stage  manager  and  pro- 
ducer. His  eye  is  so  everlastingly  alert  for  the  opportunity  in 
each  of  these  branches  that  he  ends  in  a  muddled  melange. 

From  amateur  to  adept,  this  is  the  range  covered  by  Gran- 
ville Barker  in  "Waste."  Some  scenes  have  all  the  pungency 
of  Pinero  while  others  challenge  the  awkwardest  amateur  un- 
der the  sun.  Of  course,  we  speak  from  a  strictly  technical 
standpoint  based  on  a  standard  prescribed  by  the  Play  itself. 

♦Mitchell  Kennerly,  New  York.    Price  $1.50. 

259 


The  DRAMATIST 

As  example  of  crude,  immature  construction  we  call  atten- 
tion to  the  first  i8  pages  of  drift  in  the  published  version. 
(Pages  216  to  234).  This  gradates  from  idle  discussion  to  the 
profoundest  slumber.  The  harangue  is  stupid  and  dull.  The 
characters  conversing  are  not  concerned  and  not  one  thing 
really  happens  in  the  interval.  On  234  is  the  first  bit  of  dialog. 
It  occurs  between  two  people  who  have  something  to  say. 
From  now  on  there  is  more  or  less  doing  till  the  end  of  the 
Act.  The  curtciin  is  an  emotional  crisis  at  the  cost  of  all  moral 
scruple.  Two  mature  individuals  are  required  to  toy  with  a 
salacious  phase  of  the  cosmi  urge.  It  is  not  shown  that  they 
share  this  passion.  At  the  author's  instance  the  puppets 
respond.  Barring  this  absence  of  volition  the  Scene  is  drawn 
with  a  master  stroke  and  the  situation  assumes  magnitude  in 
a  twinkling.    The  passing  of  the  participants  is  vivisected. 

From  243  to  250  there  is  little  else  than  an  inconsequent 
prattle  of  politics.  The  author  presupposes  our  interest  in 
these  abstractions.  On  254  the  telephone  relieves  the  mono- 
tony. There  is  word  that  the  Plot  is  still  living.  The  remain- 
der of  the  Scene  vitally  interests  us.  The  parental  law  is  in- 
volved. But  the  chasm  between  amateur  and  adept  is  again 
portrayed  in  the  two  extremes  of  craftmanship. 

From  268  to  293  we  have  a  sample  of  spurious  common- 
places. Now  w^e  arrive  at  the  prime  situation  of  the  Play,  in- 
tensely unique  and  modem.  The  rest  of  the  Act  is  just  as 
supremely  stupid.  It  is  hard  to  reconcile  such  epochs  of  drift 
after  one  or  two  full  breaths  of  drama.  Again  from  skill  to  in- 
competence. 

The  chief  flaw  in  Act  IV  is  not  the  fact  that  the  curtain  is 
twice  lowered.  So  far  as  the  Play  proper  is  concerned  the  Act 
as  a  whole  is  an  error.  The  author  drives  on  his  hero  to  sui- 
cide to  fulfil  his  theme. 

P3ge  333»  the  incident  of  the  sister's  innocence  of  the 
brother's  guilt  is  a  touch  of  suspense  worth  noting.  Taken  as 
an  isolated  instance  of  treatment  it  has  merit  and  delicacy. 

"Waste"  is  more  apparent  in  the  misuse  of  irrelevant  forces 
than  in  the  moral  conveyed.  This  moral  which  should  be  as 
clear  as  the  day  is  concealed  in  clouded  obscurity. 

PUTTING     IT     OVER. 

Dramatizing  the  National  Game. 

There  is  no  sport  that  absorbs  the  attention  of  a  larger  por- 
tion of  the  population  than  baseball.  It  is  very  difficult  to 
dramatize  this  enthusiasm  into  a  serviceable  theatrical  conflict, 
but  it  looks  very  much  as  though  Frank  Hatch  and  Lee  Arthur 
might  successfully  capitalize  this  pastime  by  subordinating  a 
few  extraneous  features  of  "Putting  it  Over." 

260 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       I       S       T 

All  drama  is  Conflict,  and  baseball  is  a  conflict  between 
chosen  sides.  The  sport,  therefore,  lends  itself  to  ready  stage 
transposition.  The  gravest  fault  in  this  Play  is  that  the  base- 
ball feature  has  not  been  allowed  to  predominate.  Other  ele- 
ments of  plotty  encumbrance  absorb  too  much  of  the  interest 
that  should  be  centered  in  the  hero  of  the  diamond.  Plot  com- 
plications may  make  this  look  necessary,  but  it  is  not. 

Problem : 

1.  A  pitcher  renounces  baseball  to  solace  his  sweetheart. 

2.  To  avert  his  father's  disgrace  he  re-enters  the  game. 

3.  The  girl  forgives  him  when  she  learns  his  heroic  mo- 
tive. 

This  is  the  gist  of  "Putting  It  Over"  so  far  as  the  authors 
stick  to  the  rules  of  their  own  game.  They  play  ball  on  an- 
other field  when  they  send  the  hero  out  to  thrash  an  editor's 
son  in  order  that  they  may  trump  up  a  motive  for  the  father's 
misappropriation  of  funds  to  save  his  boy  from  jail.  This  is 
spurious  entanglement.  If  these  motives  could  be  founded  on 
something  in  keeping  with  baseball  Plot  purpose  would  be  fos- 
tered, whereas  the  outside  incidents  brought  in  to  brace  up 
motive  merely  subtract  from  the  progress  of  the  Play  proper. 
The  extraneous  agency  of  the  aunt  is  one  of  these  disorders. 
She  is  no  more  or  less  than  a  mouthpiece  of  the  authors.  Her 
financial  vicissitudes  as  a  Fifth  Avenue  dressmaker  do  not  be- 
long in  this  game  of  ball.  No  amount  of  tinkering  could  make 
her  a  principal  in  the  Plot,  and  her  intrusion  into  the  Conflict 
merely  blurs  the  legitimate  course.  This  character  should  be 
subordinated  to  her  normal  position  as  chaperon  to  the  girl. 

A  commendable  phase  of  the  treatment  is  the  truthful  esti- 
mate of  ballplaying  as  a  profession.  The  authors  show  it  up 
in  its  true  colors.  It  is  assigned  its  proper  place  in  the  cate- 
gory of  healthful  sports,  but  is  not  idealized  with  misleading 
glamor  for  the  intoxication  of  aspiring  youth. 

But  all  these  remarks  are  based  upon  a  preliminary  try-out 
of  the  production.  Many  of  the  defects,  no  doubt,  will  be 
eliminated  in  the  course  of  rehearsals.  The  Play  has  an  abun- 
dance of  marketable  material  upon  which  the  efforts  of  the 
authors  should  concentrate. 

THE    HOUSE    NEXT     DOOR.* 
A  Satire  on  Social  Supremacy. 

A  welcome  recruit  to  the  file  of  published  Plays  is  this  suc- 
cess of  three  seasons  past.  To  readers  of  "The  Dramatist"  it 
will  be  twice  welcome  since  so  many  of  our  cherished  theories 
are  successfully  put  into  practice. 

^Walter  H.  Baker  &  Co.,  Boston.    Price  50c. 

261 


The  DRAMATIST 

As  a  model  of  Unity  few  Plays  can  surpass  it.  It  has  a  sin- 
gle purpose  into  which  all  minor  episodes  are  merged.  Co- 
hesion is  intricate.  All  parts  contribute  to  the  whole.  The 
Plot  is  replete  with  expectation  and  suspense.  The  dominant 
danger  hangs  over  our  heads  like  a  threatening  thunderstorm. 

Character  is  well  drawn  because  it  is  created  by  Conflict. 
Even  the  negative  types  are  pronounced  for  their  distinctive 
personality.  The  entire  structure  revolves  around  the  irate 
old  fossil  whose  peevish  spleen  is  a  visual  property  of  the  Plot- 
He  is  a  gradual  growth  before  us  within  the  time  limits  of  the 
Play. 

The  Conflict  is  properly  divided  into  acts.  Three  Acts! 
The  curtains  are  well  timed  and  effective.  The  greatest  possi- 
ble promise  is  yielded.  At  the  end  of  Act  II  the  fate  of  four 
souls  hinges  on  the  suspended  issue  of  the  two  chief  combat- 
ants. 

Problem : 

1.  A  bankrupt  gentile  hates  a  prosperous  Jew. 

2.  Their  children  fall  in  love. 

3.  The  enemies  are  reconciled. 

The  defects  of  this  structure  are  so  trifling  they  may  well 
be  ignored.  It  would  be  quibbling  to  locate  a  few  minor  flaws 
when  such  infinite  inspiration  is  afforded  the  aspirant.  Mr.  J. 
Hartley  Manners  has  Americanized  the  German  version  with 
rare  slolL 


THE     HOME    THRUST.* 
A  Suffrage  Playlet. 

The  National  Woman  Suffrage  Association  has  entered  the 
theatrical  field  as  a  factor  for  publicity.  They  have  issued  a 
list  of  manuscript  Plays  written  by  women  of  literary  and 
public  prominence.  The  rights  to  these  scripts  are  held  by  the 
association  and  permission  to  produce  them  is  granted  on  roy- 
alty. 

"The  Home  Thrust"  is  one  of  this  number.  It  is  a  fine  Play 
idea  minus  the  suspense  that  spells  dramatic  interest.  Not 
until  the  last  page  do  we  receive  that  information  calculated  to 
excite  expectation.  Without  this  factor  there  can  be  no  sus- 
pense. Without  suspense  there  is  no  such  thing  as  drama. 
Plot  lapses  into  storybook  style  and  the  surprise  is  sprung  on 
us  instead  of  the  principal  implicated. 

^National  Woman  Suffrage  Association,  N.  Y.    Price  loc. 

262 


The  DRAMATIST 

The  exponents  of  a  great  cause  are  not  the  best  judges  of 
Plays  to  propagate  their  theories.  This  playlet,  for  instance, 
would  undoubtedly  delight  a  Suffrage  audience.  Each  advo- 
cate would  contribute  a  Conflict  of  her  own  out  of  her  stock 
on  hand  of  enthusiasm.  But  the  aim,  of  course,  is  to  reach  the 
enemy.  Long  epochs  of  undramatized  talk  will  have  little  in- 
fluence in  that  direction.  The  skeptic  must  be  reached  through 
his  eye,  not  his  ear.  A  stage  picture  painting  a  Suffrage  fact 
is  the  thing  to  strive  for.    Seeing  is  believing. 

THE    CLIMBERS.* 

Fitch's  First  Great  Play. 

Problem : 

1.  A  wife's  admirer  saves  a  husband  from  disgrace. 

2.  He  falsely  accuses  them  of  adultery.  ^; 

3.  The  wife's  contempt  drives  husband  to  suicide. 

A  glance  at  this  Problem  reveals  the  deep  current  of 
Conflict  that  pervades  this  play.  It  is  the  first  of  a  long  list  of 
fKDwerful  dramas  from  the  pen  of  this  prolific  playwright.  His 
technical  skill  advanced  steadily  after  this  success  until  its 
abrupt  climax  in  his  last  work,  "The  City."  No  other  modern 
dramatist  has  shunned  the  pitfalls  of  intellectual  vagaries  so 
successfully.  He  could  not  be  beguiled  into  false  flights  of 
metaphysics.    He  made  his  appeal  to  the  heart,  not  the  head. 

*'i?he  Climbers"  is  not  free  from  structural  flaws,  as  we 
now  feel  them.  Characters  frequently  indulge  in  asides,  lapse 
into  monolog,  and  attempt  to  retail  the  Plot  prematurely.  On 
page  57  is  an  example  of  this  offence:  "Ned  Warden's  always 
ready  to  take  you  anywhere  you  like."  Fitch  would  not  have 
made  this  blunder  in  his  later  work.  Restraint  would  postpone 
all  mention  of  the  husband's  rival  till  the  character  is  intro- 
duced. 

Such  violations  of  sequence  merely  betray  an  amateur's 
eagerness  to  push  the  facts  across.  On  page  59  the  author 
talks  Sterling's  financial  troubles  into  Blanche  to  enlighten 
us.  The  Play  should  SHOW  this.  On  6g,  70,  71  and  72  we 
have  the  aimless  efforts  of  the  amateur,  to  paint  crooked  char- 
acter by  comment.  The  balance  of  the  act  is  given  over  to  epi- 
sodic comedy  of  a  Clyde  Fitch  quality.  It  is  wholly  unneces- 
sary to  the  Plot  and  serves  no  purpose  even  in  the  delay  of 
developments,  but  the  comedy  is  not  out  of  keeping  with  the 
Play  proper  and  bears  no  strain  upon  the  imagination.  The 
author's  creative  art  is  at  its  keenest  in  this  episode,  but  only 
the  master  can  venture  such  purposeless  interludes  after  the 

*Samuel  French,  New  York.    Price  50  cents. 

263 


The  DRAMATIST 

Conflict  is  once  started.  Blanche's  soliloquy  after  reading  the 
father's  letter  at  end  of  Act  I  is  the  crudest  craftsmanship  in 
the  Play. 

Act  II  advances  the  Conflict  more  steadily.  Sterling's  ruin 
is  accomplished  offstage,  and  told  to  us  in  talk.  The  weight 
of  this  Act  is  enlivened  by  Trotter's  eccentricities.  The  final 
confession  in  the  dark  is  theatrical,  but  highly  effective. 

On  191  the  "suffering  dog"  episode  is  a  specimen  of  crude 
device  later  discarded  by  this  great  craftsman.  195  shows  the 
author's  ability  in  riding  over  the  rough  places.  Pages  203, 
204,  205,  206  and  207  develop  magnificent  situation  and  reach 
the  crisis  of  the  Conflict.  Warden's  affection  is  portrayed  in  a 
clean,  straightforward  fashion.  Some  forceful  work  will  be 
found  on  page  211  where  Blanche's  confessed  love  drives  Ster- 
ling to  desperation.  At  the  end  of  this  act  (III)  our  sympa- 
thies are  all  for  the  wife  and  her  lover.  We  long  for  their 
union. 

Act  IV  is  largely  the  art  of  stretching  it  over.  The  vain 
attempt  of  the  husband  to  regain  his  wife's  love  is  the  obsta- 
cle to  our  coveted  Conclusion.  The  subtlety  of  treatment  here 
is  marvelous.  On  251  the  fist  fight  is  to  be  deplored.  It  mars 
a  wonderful  ending.  The  pathetic  death  of  the  hopeless  weak- 
ling is  treated  with  rare  skill  and  restraint  and  good  taste 
marks  the  final  curtain. 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DAGGER.* 

First  Act  Follows  the  Second. 

In  this  little  play  by  Arthur  Schnitzler  the  usual  sequence 
of  events  is  entirely  reversed.  The  past  upon  which  the  story 
is  founded  follows  the  present.  The  ancient  portrait  of  a  lady 
holding  a  dagger  is  employed  as  a  talisman  in  the  fate  of  a 
married  woman  and  her  lover. 

The  second  tableau  enacts  the  incident  of  earlier  ages  that 
inspired  the  original  painting.  The  principals  are  the  same 
in  an  earlier  stage  of  transmigration.  This  scene  predicts  the 
doom  awaiting  the  illicit  relations  of  the  lovers.  The  author 
desires  to  foreshadow  the  ironic  fate  that  holds  them  in  its 
clutch. 

This  mockery  of  fate  appeals  to  the  poetic  temperament. 
It  is  a  gripping  drama  of  the  Little  Theatre  school.  But  it  has 
no  relation  to  the  realistic  Play  and  would  not  serve  as  a  guide 
to  the  modem  student. 

The  introductory  dialog  is  distinctly  the  work  of  the  ama- 
teur. It  bears  no  imprint  of  the  master.  Our  energies  are 
wasted  in  an  effort  to  grasp  the  scattered  fragments  of  thought 

*The  Moods  Publishing  Co.,  New  York.    Price  20  cents. 

264 


The  DRAMATIST 

that  mystify  our  dawning  impressions  of  the  Plot.  The  iirst 
thing  we  SEE  is  the  young  man's  love  for  the  married  woman, 
and  this  is  impaired  by  the  false  premises  it  rests  upon.  Much 
of  the  remainder  of  the  first  part  is  mere  narrative.  The  sec- 
ond scene  is  much  more  adequately  presented,  for  here  we  see 
the  husband  intercept  the  illicit  lovers.  This  is  drama  for  the 
moment. 

The  theme  is  not  elevating,  no  matter  how  true  to  the  de- 
cree of  a  superstitious  fate  that  defies  danger.  The  piece  has 
no  moral  purpose.  It  excels  the  same  author's  efforts  in 
"Anatol"  because  it  has  the  virtue  of  theatric  effectiveness 
even  while  it  precludes  conviction.  It  is  not  based  upon  our 
beliefs. 

THE    UNWRITTEN    LAW. 
A  Motive    in  Mental  Suggestion. 

Problem : 

1.  Under  suggestive  influence  a  wife  kills  her  lover. 

2.  Her  divorced  husband  assumes  the  crime. 

3.  She  saves  her  husband  by  a  subconscious  disclosure. 

Briefly,  the  Plot  is  this:  A  woman,  deserted  by  her  hus- 
band accepts  the  bounty  of  her  landlord  with  the  understand- 
ing that  he  will  marry  her  when  she  is  divorced.  He  fails  to 
keep  his  promise  and  she  stabs  him  under  the  temporary  in- 
fluence of  suggestion.  Her  divorced  husband  assumes  the 
crime  and  a  hypnotist  establishes  the  fact  that  she  committed 
it  under  occult  mental  motive. 

The  theme  is  timely  as  echoed  by  scores  of  modem  murder 
cases  where  the  brain-storm  theory  is  introduced.  But  Mr. 
Royle  has  not  concentrated  sufficiently  on  this  theme  to  ob- 
tain the  fullest  net  result.  The  idea  is  excellent  but  its  earlier 
execution  miscarries.  Expecting  a  Play  consistent  with  the 
title  we  vainly  endeavor  to  construct  some  such  issue  out  of 
a  number  of  false  introductions. 

The  rumsodden  father  is  so  over  emphasized  that  we  na- 
turally expect  Plot  to  take  genesis  through  him.  But  nothing 
comes  of  it.  The  father  does  nothing  but  forsake  his  family. 
Failing  in  this  snare  we  catch  at  the  next.  A  youthful  attor- 
ney courts  the  drunkard's  daughter.  From  hints  that  are 
dropped  we  might  easily  surmise  he  will  ruin  the  child  and  the 
"unwritten  law"  to  the  rescue.    Again  we  are  fooled. 

And  with  all  these  false  premises  the  main  Plot  conditions 
are  badly  ignored.  We  should  see  that  the  landlord's  game  to 
deceive  the  mother.  But  in  the  preliminary  Acts  he  is  her 
guardian  angel.     When  his  true  colors  are  displayed  it  is  too 

265 


The  DRAMATIST 

late.  We  are  asked  to  despise  a  man  we  love  for  his  disinter- 
ested loyalty.  There  is  a  blundering  attempt  to  get  his  sen- 
suality over  in  a  talk  scene  with  a  suffragette.  But  this  is  tame 
testimony  in  the  face  of  the  landlord's  charities  we  have  act- 
ually witnessed. 

All  of  which  illustrates  the  imperative  need  of  telling  Plot 
essentials  to  the  eye,  not  the  ear.  Seeing  is  believing.  Hear- 
ing may  not  even  be  heard !  The  related  fact  may  be  fixed  in 
the  minds  of  some  of  the  auditors,  the  visible  performance  is 
the  only  indelible  means  of  fastening  it  upon  all.  And  this  is 
the  definition  of  drama.    DOING ! 

Of  course  these  comments  are  purely  technicaL  The  Play 
as  it  stands  deals  with  a  vital  problem  and  delivers  a  telling 
"punch."  We  might  devote  equal  space  to  the  merits  of  a 
Play.  It  is  a  work  worthy  of  study  from  that  standpoint  as 
well. 


'Books  for  Dramatic  Students 


TECHNIQUE     OF     THE     DRAMA.* 

By  Dr.  Giistav  Frejrtag. 

This  book  was  written  by  the  great  German  novelist, 
scholar,  poet,  critic,  editor,  soldier,  publicist,  and  successful 
playwright,  Gustav  Freytag — the  only  instance  of  a  dramatist 
formulating  a  treatise  on  the  technique  of  his  art. 

Aristotle  in  his  "Poetics"  and  Lessing  in  his  "Dramatic 
Notes"  preceded  him  in  the  enunciation  of  certain  dramatic 
principles,  but  he  was  the  first  author  to  formulate  the  princi- 
ples of  his  craft  into  a  synthesis. 

This  work  was  published  about  the  time  of  our  Civil  War, 
and  of  course  in  some  minor  details  has  become  a  little  anti- 
quated owing  to  the  phenomenally  rapid  evolution  of  the  dra- 
matic art,  but  in  the  eternal  principles  of  drama  it  is  as  vital 
today  as  when  first  published. 

It  has  gone  through  six  editions,  and  will  go  through  many 
more  before  its  career  of  usefulness  is  over.  It  is  one  of  the 
great  classics  that  every  dramatic  student  should  read. 

*  Scott,  Foresman  &  Co.,  Chicago.    Price  $1.50. 

266 


The  DRAMATIST 

THE  APPRECIATION  OF  THE  DRAMA.* 
By  Charles  H.  Caffin. 

This  is  a  keen  and  most  comprehensive  treatise  on  dra- 
matic technology.  It  should  be  adopted  as  a  text-book  by 
every  university  placing  scientific  study  of  the  drama  in  the 
curriculum. 

It  traces  the  evolution  of  drama  through  its  plastic  and  pic- 
torial phases  and  gives  its  history  in  compact  form  possibly 
more  valuable  to  the  modem  student  than  any  tedious  review 
of  the  works  themselves. 

The  analysis  of  Ibsen's  "Hedda  Gabler"  illustrates  ably  emd 
in  a  synthetic  manner  nearly  every  principle  involved  in  a 
play  Our  only  regret  is  that  the  author  has  not  applied 
this  same  talent  to  the  flagrant  flaws  of  construction  in  this 
piece.  The  findings  of  his  acute  perception  would  be  highly 
interesting. 

Mr.  Charles  H.  Caffin,  the  author,  is  to  be  congratulated 
upon  his  point  of  view,  acquired  through  a  keen  knowledge  of 
other  arts,  which  should  prove  of  infinite  service  to  modem 
dramatists,  actors  and  students  of  technic.  There  is  no  other 
book  of  its  class  that  we  can  so  heartily  and  unreservedly  en- 
dorse. 

A     GUIDE     TO     PICTURES.* 

Here  is  a  book  written  by  a  distinguished  dramatic  critic 
on  a  closely  allied  act.  Told  in  clear,  concise,  comprehensive 
English  its  points  strike  home.  Of  especial  interest  to  aspiring 
playwrights  are  the  chapters  on: 

The  Feeling  for  Beauty 

Art  and  Her  Twin  Sister  Nature 

Nature  is  Haphazard ;  Art  is  Arrangement 

Contrast 

The  Action,  Movement,  and  Composition  of  the  Figure 

Naturalistic  Composition 

Color — Values — Subtlety 

Color — Texture,  Atmosphere,  Tone 

Bnish-work  and  Drawing 

Subject,  Motive,  and  Point  of  View 

The  illustrations  are  accompanied  by  diagrams  which  assist 
the  beginners  and  student.  The  art  of  playwriting  is  so  essen- 
tially a  picture  building  process  that  "A  Guide  to  Picture"  be- 
comes a  handbook  for  dramatists. 

*Doubleday,  Page    Co.,  Garden  City,  N.  Y.    Price  $1.50. 

267 


The  DRAMATIST 

P  L  A  Y  -  M  A  K  I  N  G .  * 
A  Manual  of  Craftsmanship. 
By  William  Archer. 
The   gravest   mistake   an    authority   like   William   Archer 
could  have  made  would  be  to  leave  no  record  of  his  observa- 
tions.   "Play-Making"  is  a  fitting  monument  to  a  life  devoted 
to  dramatic  analysis  and  translation.    It  is  a  work  of  perma- 
nent value  that  will  doubtless  go  down  in  the  annals  of  drama- 
turgy as  the  most  important  contribution  of  the  age. 

Mr.  Archer  holds  many  points  in  common  with  the  doc- 
trines advanced  in  The  Dramatist.  One  is  that  the  best  aid  to 
the  aspirant  is  negative  criticism.  Another,  that  drama  re- 
nounces its  chief  privilege  and  glory  when  it  ceases  to  be  a 
popular  art.  And  a  third,  he  has  little  time  for  the  untheatrical 
theatre.  Following  is  the  list  of  Chapters : 
BOOK  I— Prologue. 

1  Introductory. 

2  The  Choice  of  a  Theme. 

3  Dramatic  and  Undramatic. 

4  The  Routine  of  Composition. 

5  Dramatis  Personae. 

BOOK  II— The  Beginning. 

6  The  Point  of  Attack :  Shakespeare  and  Ibsen. 

7  Exposition:  Its  End  and  Its  Means. 

8  The  First  Act. 

9  "Curiosity"  and  "Interest." 

10  Foreshadowing,  not  Forestalling. 

BOOK  III— The  Middle. 

11  Tension  and  Its  Suspension. 

12  Preparation:   The  Finger-Post. 

13  The  Obligatory  Scene. 

14  The  Peripety. 

15  Probability,  Chance  and  Coincidence. 

16  Logic. 

17  Keeping  a  Secret. 

B9OK  IV— The  End. 

18  Climax  and  Anticlimax. 

19  Conversion. 

20  Blind-AUey  Themes  and  Others. 

21  The  Full  Close. 

BOOK  V— Epilogue. 

22  Character  and  Psychology. 

23  Dialogue  and  Details. 
A  glance  at  these  chapters  affords  a  taste  of  the  choice  feast 

in  store  for  the  student.     Suffice  it  to  say  that  no  modem  g 

playAvright's  repertoire  is  complete  without  thrice  reading  this  | 

valuable  handbook  of    craftsmanship    by  one    of    the  world's  ;;ii 

greatest  dramatic  authorities.  ■•■ 

*Small,  Maynard  &  Co.,  Boston.    Price  $2.00  net.  ' 

268 


The  DRAMATIST 

AMERICAN      PLAYGOERS. 
The  Cobum  Players. 

At  the  Spring  meeting  of  the  American  Playgoers  Mrs.  and 
Mr.  Coburn  were  the  special  guests  of  the  club.  Mr.  Coburn 
made  an  address  on  open  air  productions  and  their  influence 
upon  the  playgoing  public  His  authoritative  comments  and 
statistics  on  this  subject  were  of  absorbing  interest  to  our 
members  and  guests. 

Mrs.  Cobum  accompanied  by  other  members  of  "The  Co- 
bum  Players"  produced  the  fourth  version  of  "The  Pearl"  to 
the  delight  and  satisfaction  of  all.  Their  undertaking  can  be 
appreciated  with  more  enthusiasm  when  it  is  revealed  that 
they  had  only  a  few  hours  in  which  to  commit  the  parts  and 
evolve  many  factors  of  original  stage  business. 

The  usual  discussion  followed  the  production  and  a  great 
many  humorous  suggestions  were  offered.  One  member  pro- 
posed that  the  pseudo  physician  administer  the  wrong  dose 
and  that  Clara's  gratitude  to  the  wife  be  founded  upon  her  nar- 
row escape  and  recovery.  But  the  burden  of  the  argument 
rested  upon  the  fact  that  there  was  not  time  to  reclaim  Clara 
from  the  degradation  of  a  thief  and  this  contention  was  finally 
overturned  by  a  member  who  showed  distinctly  that  there  is 
no  such  reclamation  attempted.  Readers  of  "The  Dramatist" 
may  determine  for  themselves,  the  justice  of  these  points  in 
the  playlet  that  follows.  Few  changes  having  since  been  made, 
the  sketch  is  substantially  the  same  as  presented. 

THE  PEARL. 

(Fourth  Revision.) 

rWidow 
Characters  ^  Clara 
[jimmy 

SCENE:  A  handsomely  furnished  parlor  in  a  first-floor 
apartment.     Doors  C.  &  L.,  Windows  R. 

At  rise  of  curtain  the  widow  is  seated,  reading  a  book.  The 
door  bell  rings.  She  leaves  the  room  to  answer  it.  Voices  are 
heard.    She  ushers  in  Clara,  who  carries  a  large  satchel. 

WIDOW — Yes,  your  references  were  quite  satisfactory. 
(She  resumes  her  chair  and  Clara  makes  a  secret  signal  to 
someone  through  window.) 

CLARA — Then  I'm  to  start  at  once?  (Setting  satchel  on 
a  chair.) 

WIDOW — There's  no  hurry.  Sit  down  a  moment  and  I'll 
explain  your  duties.  (Clara  seats  herself)  You'll  find  your 
position  a  little  difficult  here.  I  don't  make  servants  of  my 
maids.    I  prefer  to  be  companionable. 

CLARA— Oh,  I  thank  you. 

269 


The  DRAMATIST 

WIDOW — What  was  your  name,  again? 
CLARA— Clara. 

WIDOW — Oh,  yes,  Clara.    A  very  pretty  name. 
CLARA— Thank  you. 

WIDOW — I  think  I'm  going  to  like  you  Clara. 
CLARA — Thank  you.    I  hope  so.    (Door  bell  rings)    Shall 
I  go? 

WIDOW — No,  never  mind.  (Widow  answers  the  bell  and 
in  her  absence  Clara  cautiously  surveys  the  premises.  She  tip- 
toes into  the  room  on  the  left  and  returns  hurriedly  resuming 
her  chair.  Man's  voice  is  heard  off  stage:  "Is  this  Mrs. 
Brown's  apartment?" 

WIDOW  (off  stage) — No,  she  lives  on  the  floor  above. 
(Clara  deliberately  knocks  over  a  chair  and  pretends  to  faint 
beside  it.) 

WIDOW  (looking  into  the  room)— What  was  that? 
(She  hurries  to  Clara)     Oh,  she  has  fainted! 

JIMMY  (Appears  C.  carrying  small  medicine  case) — Can 
I  be  of  any  assistance? 

WIDOW — Oh,  if  you  will,  please,  go  for  a  doctor. 
JIMMY — (Opening  his  medicine  case)  I  happen  to  be.  . .  . 
WIDOW — You're  a  physician?    Oh,  thank  heaven!    Then 
you  can  attend  her. 

JIMMY — (Taking  Clara's  pulse)  Any  smelling  salts  in  the 
house  ? 

WIDOW— Yes yes (Exits  hurriedly  L.) 

JIMMY— (To  Clara,  under  his  breath)  Where's  the  swag? 
CLARA — (Pointing  L.)  In  there. 
JIMMY — Have  you  doped  it  out? 

CLARA — Yes,  she's  all  alone.  Send  her  out  for  some- 
thing. (Widow  returns  with  smelling  salts  which  she  hands 
to  Jimmy.) 

WIDOW — Is  she  any  better,  doctor? 

JIMMY — Her.... Her   heart    seems   weak very    weak. 

(Administers  salts  bottle,  then  fumbles    in    medicine    case) 
tiave  you  any  digitalis? 

WIDOW — No,  but  there's  a  drug  store  in  the  next  block. 
JIMMY— We'd  better  send  out  for  a  little. 
WIDOV/— I'll  have  to  go  myself. 
JIMMY — Sorry  to  trouble  you. 
WIDOW— Oh,  no  trouble  at  all. 

JIMMY— (Rubbing  Clara's  hands  vigorously)  I  can't  leave 
my  patient. 

WIDOW— I'll  hurry.  (She  goes  out  C.)  (Clara  and 
Jimmy  listen  till  outer  door  is  heard  to  close.  Then  both  spring 
to  their  feet.) 

JIMMY— Now  what? 

270 


The  DRAMATIST 

CLARA — That's  her  room  (indicating  L.)  get  on  the  job. 
(Clara  stands  guard  at  door  C.  Jimmy  hurries  off  L. . .  .Noise 
of  rummaging  heard). 

CLARA — Anything  doing? 

JIMMY— (Off  L.)  Hah.  . .  .  !    Here's  the  swag. 

CLARA — That's  the  talk!  Kid,  but  come  across,  come 
across. 

JIMMY-— (Enters  L.  with  jewel-box)  Her  little  Klondike 
junk-box. 

CLARA — (Lifting  out  a  diamond  brooch  with  large  pearl 
centre)  Whee !    That's  some  pearl ! 

JIMMY — It's  sure  a  beaute!  (He  returns  brooch  to  jewel- 
case). 

CLARA — (Opening  her  satchel)  Sink  it,  kid,  she's  com- 
ing! 

JIMMY— And  I'll  beat  it.    (Taking  the  satchel). 

CLARA — Not  on  your  life,  (She  grabs  the  satchel  and 
resumes  attitude  of  patient.  Jimmy  is  fanning  her  with  his 
hat  when  widow  enters.) 

WIDOW — I  haven't  been  too  long,  doctor?  (Handing 
him  a  small  bottle.) 

JIMMY— Not  a  bit. 

WIDOW — How  is  she,  now? 

JIMMY — Still  a  little  weak.  If  she  has  a  relapse  give  her 
ten  drops  of  this.  (Takes  up  his  medicine  case)  I'm  forget- 
ting my  patient;  on  the  next  floor,  you  say? 

WIDOW— Yes.    But  your  fee,  doctor? 

JIMMY — I'll  send  you  a  bill,  madam.  (To  Clara)  Remem- 
ber, Miss,  plenty  of  exercise  in  the  open  air.  (To  Widow) 
Good  day,  madame.  Good-afternoon,  Miss.  (Widow  shows 
Jimmy  out.  Clara  rises  and  takes  up  her  hat  but  hides  it  as 
widow  re-enters.) 

WIDOW — (Surprised  at  seeing  Clara  standing)  Why, 
Clara,  are  you  strong  enough? 

CLARA — I'm  very  much  better,  thank  you. 

WIDOW — Oh,  I'm  so  glad.  I  was  so  worried  about  you, 
child. 

CLARA — You've  been  awfully  kind,  madam.  (Takes  up 
her  hat  again.) 

WIDOW— You're  going  out? 

CLARA — You  heard  what  the  doctor  ordered.  .  .(She  puts 
on  her  hat.) 

WIDOW — Are  you  sure  he  v/ould  approve? 

CLARA — He  recommended  exercise.  (She  puts  her  hand 
on  her  satchel.) 

WIDOW — But  you  don't  need  to  take  your  bag? 

CLARA— Yes. 

WIDOW — Clara,  you're  going  to  leave? 

CLARA— I I've  got  to. 

271 


The DRAMATIST 

WIDOW — You're  not  satisfied  with  the  place? 

CLARA — It's  not  that,  madam,  my  health  is  so  poor 

WIDOW — My  dear  girl,  I'll  take  care  of  you.  Let  me 
make  you  some  broth  now. 

CLARA — Oh,  no,  madam,  you're  too  kind.  I  don't  deserve 
it. 

WIDOW— But  I  like  you  Clara,  and  I'm  sure  you'll  find 
me  congenial.  Besides,  I'm  all  alone.  I  need  a  nice  young 
companion  like  you.     I'll  not  make  you  feel  you're  a  servant. 

CLARA — Oh,  I  know  that,  madam,  but.  . .  . 

WIDOW — Well,  make  up  your  mind  to  stay  a  few  days, 
anyhow. 

CLARA — I  can't  madam,  I've  deceived  you.  . .  . 

WIDOW — Deceived  me,  in  what  way? 

CLARA — In  applying  here  for  work.     I  am I  am 

not 

WIDOW — You  are  not  a  servant.  . .  .  ? 

CLARA— No. 

WIDOW — Then  why  did  you  pretend  you  were? 

CLARA— Oh,  I  can't  tell  you 

WIDOW — You  must  have  been  badly  in  need,  Clara. 
You'll  have  to  work  somewhere.  Why  not  stay  here?  I'll 
teach  you.  I'd  be  willing  to  put  up  with  a  few  inconveniences 
because  you're  a  girl  I  could  have  confidence  in. 

CLARA— Oh,  don't.     Please  don't! 

WIDOW — But  you're  not  strong,  you  need  a  home  and 
some  one  to  care  for  you. 

CLARA — I  must  get  out  in  the  air — I'm  stifling. 

WIDOW — (Laying  her  hand  on  the  satchel)  But  you 
won't  take  your  things? 

CLARA — (Jerking  satchel  away)  Oh,  don't! 

(Clara  betrays  fear  of  exposing  her  loot.) 

WIDOW— Why,  what's  the  matter? 

CLARA — Oh,  nothing,  nothing. 

WIDOW — But  you're  not  fit  to  carry  that  heavy  bag. 

CLARA — Oh,  I  can  manage  it. 

WIDOW — You  forget,  you  just  fainted,  Clara. 

CLARA— No  I  didn't 

WIDOW — Why,  yes  you  did,  don't  you  recall,  we  had  to 
have  the  doctor? 

CLARA — He  wasn't  a  doctor. 

WIDOW— Why  Clara.    You're  delirious 

CLARA — Really,  madam,  I  must  go. 

WIDOW — You're  going  to  leave  me  for  good? 

CLARA— Yes,  I'm  sorry,  but 

WIDOW — Oh,  Clara,  and  I'd  set  my  heart  on  keeping 
you. 

CLARA — You'll  not  lose  much.  I'm  not  what  you  think 
me. 

272 


The  DRAMATIST 

WIDOW— Then  tell  me,  Clara ? 

CLARA — Oh,  no  madam,  I  can't ! 

WIDOW — I'm  sure  you  can  trust  me  Clara,  I  trust  you. 

CLARA — (Breaking  down)  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  dead !  I 
wish  I  were  dead ! 

WIDOW — Why,  Clara,  my  poor  little  girl.  You  frighten 
me.    What  troubles  you  dear? 

CLARA — (Fumbling  in  her  satchel  she  drav/s  out  the 
jewel  case  and  places  it  on  table)  There,  now  you  know! 
(She  prepares  to  go.) 

WIDOW— Clara!    You? 

CLARA — Yes.  Good  day!  (She  hurries  out  C.  as  widow 
opens  jewel-case.)     (She  takes  out  the  pearl  and  looks  at  it.) 

CURTAIN. 

THE  NEWER  COURAGE. 
(To  Charles  Rann  Kennedy.) 

"A  Newer  Courage,  Dealing  with  Life,  not  Death." 
Because  eternal  themes  your  thoughts  engage. 
Your  words  shall  live,  and  shall  outlast  our  years. 
Ever  the  mightiest  of  our  poet-seers 
Looked  in  their  souls  to  write ;  the  noblest  page 
Is  that  which  gives  God's  message  to  the  age. 
And  if  in  all  the  throng,  it  reach  the  ears 
Of  one  who  grasps  the  motive  that  he  hears. 
The  prophet  proves  his  sacred  heritage. 
Ever  the  poet's  aim  is  to  express 
The  things  best  known  to  his  own  consciousness. 
You  proved  the  newer  courage,  you  who  hurled 
The  cheap  lure  from  you,  of  the  mob's  applause. 
To  find  your  theme  in  God's  divinest  laws — 
The  sacred  drama  that  transformed  the  world! 

— Mary  Brent  Whiteside. 


273 


he  DRAMATIS 

Vlots  of  the  World's  Best  Plays 


In  this  department  the  Plots  of  all  the  World's  Best  Plays 
will  be  published.  By  Plot  we  do  not  mean  the  story  of  the 
Play  but  a  compact  outline  revealing  the  structural  anatomy 
only.  Many  plays  that  do  not  contain  a  Plot  germ  are  omitted 
from  this  list  for  the  reason  that  they  mislead  the  student  tech- 
nically. The  plays  are  listed  according  to  the  alphabetical  or- 
der of  authors,  not  titles. 


BREAD. 
By  Conrad  Alberty. 
A  peasant  leader  burns  the  castle  of  a  lord  in  his  fight  to 
secure  bread  for  his  men.  He  falls  in  love  with  the  lord's 
daughter  whom  he  rescues  from  the  flames.  The  girl  aspires 
to  the  crov/n  for  her  new  found  lover.  She  is  spirited  a^vay 
and  imprisoned.  At  a  critical  moment  the  lover  deserts  his 
soldiers  in  order  to  recapture  his  sweetheart  and  returns  with 
her  in  time  to  prevent  their  defeat  in  battle.  The  girl  is  killed 
for  having  caused  the  leader  to  break  faith  with  his  followers. 

THE  DANGEROUS  AUNT. 
By  Albini. 
A  father  objects  to  his  son's  attentions  paid  an  actress. 
Masquerading  as  her  own  aunt  she  captivates  the  old  man. 
When  informed  that  she  is  of  noble  birth  he  proposes  mar- 
riage. The  truth  is  now  revealed  by  the  son  and  the  father  is 
compelled  to  sanction  their  marriage. 

ANNE  OF  THARAU. 
By  Willibald  Alexis. 
A  professor  writes  a  love  poem  for  a  young  captain  who  in- 
tends it  for  the  girl  whose  life  he  has  saved  and  to  whom  the 
professor  is  virtually  betrothed.  The  girl  falls  madly  in  love 
with  the  captain  but  incidentally  secures  high  honors  for  the 
professor's  poetic  proclivities, 

PHILIP  II. 
By  Vittorio  Alsieri. 
A  tyrannical  king  suspects  his  own  son's  love  for  the  queen, 
the  boy's  young  stepmother.  He  contrives  to  lead  the  queen 
to  betray  her  partiality  for  the  boy  and  then  condemns  him  to 
death  on  a  trumped  up  charge  of  treason.  The  friend  who  suc- 
ceeded in  liberating  the  boy  is  assassinated  and  the  latter  is 

274 


The DRAM       A       T       I       S       T 

again  imprisoned  on  the  charge  of  attempted  parricide  based 
upon  the  king's  dream.  The  queen  is  now  decoyed  into  aiding 
the  boy  to  escape.  The  king  surprises  her.  Both  she  and  the 
boy  kill  themselves. 

THE  THATCHER. 
By  Angely. 
A  thatcher  seeks  shelter  from  a  thunderstorm  in  the  room 
of  a  law  student.  As  a  joke  he  dresses  up  in  the  attire  of  the 
absent  student.  Meantime  the  student  falls  heir  to  a  fortune 
and  the  thatcher,  to  prevent  arrest  for  theft  carries  out  the 
counterfeit.  Finally  the  thatcher  is  called  upon  to  rescue  the 
student  from  a  threatening  fire  and  the  latter  is  discovered  as 
the  rightful  heir.  The  thatcher  is  rewarded  for  his  valour  and 
all  ends  happily. 

THE  UGLIEST  OF  SEVEN. 
By  Angely. 
A  young  man  is  bequeathed  a  fortune  on  condition  that  he 
marry  the  ugliest  of  seven  sisters.  He  had  already  fallen  in 
love  with  an  unknown  girl  on  a  journey  and  it  is  with  great 
joy  that  he  finds  she  is  one  of  the  seven.  But  in  reality  she  is 
the  most  beautiful.  The  judges  are  three  old  maids.  The  girl 
provokes  them  by  her  intentional  pranks  and  out  of  revenge 
they  pronounce  her  the  homeliest.  The  young  couple  are  so 
delighted  with  this  verdict  that  they  increase  the  fee  of  the 
judges. 

THE  MISTRESS  OF  ST.  TROPEZ. 
By  Anicet-Bourgeois. 
A  girl  forsakes  a  young  doctor  whom  she  loves  and  mar- 
ries her  father's  creditor  to  avert  financial  ruin.  A  relative  of 
tlie  creditor  who  suffers  disinheritance  on  account  of  this  mar- 
riage betrays  the  girl's  love  for  the  doctor.  The  husband  hap- 
pens to  be  the  young  doctor's  benefactor,  having  founded  his 
education  and  although  the  young  wife  has  been  true  and  loyal 
he  is  hurt  to  think  that  she  really  loves  another.  The  rela- 
tive goes  as  far  as  to  poison  the  husband  and  cast  suspicion  on 
the  young  wife.  The  doctor  rescues  him.  The  young  wife's 
innocence  is  established  and  she  learns  to  esteem  her  husband. 

THE    PERJURER. 

By  Ludwig  Anzengruber. 
A  man  secures  the  inheritance  of  a  deceased  brother  by 
burning  the  will  and  taking  an  oath  that  no  will  exists.  He  is 
caught  in  the  act  by  his  own  son.  The  will  bequeathed  all  the 
brother's  wealth  to  his  illegitimate  children.  One  of  these,  a 
daughter,  discovers  evidence  of  a  will  and  the  uncle  is  declared 

275 


The  DRAMATIST 

a  perjurer.  He  attempts  to  recover  the  evidence  from  the  girl 
but  she  evades  him  saying  that  his  own  son  had  already  ob- 
tained it.  The  father  goes  mad  after  shooting  his  son  but  the 
latter  is  nursed  back  to  health  by  the  illicit  cousin,  and  they 
fall  in  love. 

THE    PRIEST     OF    CHURCHFIELD. 

By  Ludvig  Anzengruber. 
A  Priest  employs  a  young  orphan  in  his  household  and 
eventually  becomes  much  attached  to  the  girl.  His  renuncia- 
tions of  priesthood  weigh  sadly  upon  him.  In  the  past  he  has 
incurred  the  hatred  of  a  man  in  his  congregation  by  declining 
to  marry  him  to  a  woman  of  different  faith.  This  fellow  learns 
of  a  golden  crucifix  that  the  priest  has  given  the  orphan.  He 
slanders  the  priest  and  succeeds  in  alienating  the  confidence  of 
his  congregation.  The  girl,  meantime,  has  fallen  in  love  with 
another  and  the  priest  is  required  to  officiate  at  their  wedding. 

A  DOUBLE  SUICIDE. 
By  Ludvig  Anzengruber. 
Two  lovers  are  deprived  of  courtship  on  account  of  the 
enmity  of  their  fathers.  They  write  a  letter  announcing  their 
intention  of  a  double  suicide.  The  fathers  immediately  insti- 
tute a  search  for  their  children  and  in  their  mutual  grief  forget 
their  past  hatred.  The  youngsters  are  finally  discovered  in  the 
mountains,  billing  and  cooing  to  their  hearts'  content.  A  re- 
conciliation is  effected. 

STAINED    HONOR. 

By  Ludvig  Anzengruber. 
A  servant  marries  a  rich  peasant.  Her  former  employer 
finds  her  jewelry  missing  and  has  the  girl  imprisoned.  It  is 
later  discovered  that  the  valuables  had  merely  been  misplaced 
but  out  of  shame  the  woman  remains  silent.  The  servant  is 
released  from  prison  but  upon  being  charged  with  theft  by  her 
young  husband  she  resolves  to  commit  suicide.  The  woman 
has  confessed  her  error  on  her  death  bed  and  the  husband 
learns  of  it  just  in  time  to  avert  the  catastrophe. 

THE    ACHARIANS. 

By  Aristophanes. 
An  Athenian  citizen  who  is  enraged  at  the  continued  war 
with  Sparta  buys  his  individual  peace  from  the  enem^y. 
Theatrical  training  obtained  from  Euripides  aids  him  in  quiet- 
ing the  protests  of  his  countrymen.  He  builds  an  enclosure 
around  his  home  where  he  opens  a  free  market  for  friend  and 
foe  alike.  Here  feasting  and  revelling  mock  the  lamentations 
of  war  and  the  Play  ends  with  this  contrast  carried  to  the 
highest  point. 

276 


The D       R       A       TA       A       T       I       S       T 

LYSISTRATA. 
By  Aristophanes. 
The  women  of  Athens  combine  against  the  men  denying  all 
domestic  intercourse.  Under  the  guidance  of  their  chieftain, 
"Lysistrata,"  they  take  possession  of  the  fortifications.  Most 
ridiculous  situations  result  from  the  plight  to  which  the  hus- 
bands are  reduced  by  this  enforced  separation.  Peace  is  finally 
concluded  through  ambassadors  from  the  belligerent  parties 
under  the  direction  of  the  diplomatic  "Lysistrata." 

ALIAS  JIMMY  VALENTINE. 
By  Paul  Armstrong. 
Through  the  influence  of  a  girl  he  has  protected  from  insult 
and  who  falls  in  love  with  him,  a  safe-breaker  is  pardoned 
from  prison  and  made  assistant-cashier  of  a  bank.  Here  he  is 
sought  on  an  old  crime  by  a  detective,  whom  he  completely 
deludes,  when  a  sister  accidentally  is  locked  in  a  safe.  The  de- 
tective discovers  him  opening  the  safe,  but  lets  him  go  because 
of  his  heroism  and  the  girl's  love. 

THE  DEEP  PURPLE. 
By  Paul  Armstrong. 
A  crook  decoys  an  innocent  girl  under  promise  of  marriage, 
and  induces  her  to  lure  a  wealthy  man  to  a  deserted  apart- 
ment, into  which  he  bursts  in  the  role  of  the  injured  husband. 
Convinced  of  the  girl's  innoce^ise  the  man  rescues  the  girl  and 
weds  her.    The  crook  is  killed  by  an  old  enemy. 


B 


DAMON     AND     PYTHIAS. 

By  John  Banim. 
A  man,  condemned  to  death  by  a  tyrant,  obtains  leave  to 
bid  his  wife  farewell  on  the  condition  that  his  friend  becomes 
his  hostage.  The  man  is  delayed  and  his  friend  is  about  to  be 
killed  in  his  place.  At  the  crucial  moment  he  arrives.  Moved 
by  this  loyalty  the  tyrant  pardons  the  condemned  man. 

THE  ADMIRABLE  CRICHTON. 
By  J.  M.  Barrie. 
A  family  of  the  nobility  is  stranded  on  an  island  where  self- 
preservation  becomes  the  paramount  issue.  In  this  emergency 
their  servant  proves  the  only  practical  mind.  He  organizes  the 
new  colony  assigning  such  elementary  duties  as  each  can  per- 
form. As  the  directing  genius  he  gradually  evolves  from  ser- 
vant to  master.  The  family  waits  on  him  hand  and  foot  and 
the  daughter  eventually  accepts  his  proposal  of  marriage  with 
due  humility.  A  ship  rescues  the  party  and  they  return  to  civi- 
lization and  to  their  respective  ranks  of  social  position. 

277 


The DRAMATIS       T 

ALICE    SIT    BY     THE    FIRE. 

By  J.  M.  Barrie. 

A  girl's  susceptive  imagination  has  been  unduly  fed  on 
melodramatic  nonsense  in  her  mother's  absence.  She  over- 
hears an  appointment  made  by  her  mother  and  jumps  at  the 
conclusion  it  is  a  lascivious  romance.  The  child  repairs  to  the 
supposed  lover's  rooms  inspired  by  the  heroic  thought  of  re- 
claiming her  wa5rward  parent.  The  mother  is  horrified  at  find- 
ing her  daughter  concealed  in  a  bachelor's  apartment.  Each 
thinks  the  other  hopelessly  compromised.  The  poor  mother's 
anxiety  is  finally  relieved  by  the  child's  attitude  of  dramatic 
rescue. 

BRIDES    OF    ARROGONIA. 

By  Michel  Beer. 

A  King  decrees  that  of  his  two  daughters,  the  one  selected 
by  a  prince  shall  become  ruler.  The  first  daughter  whom  the 
prince  loves  has  been  pledged,  by  her  Mother's  vow,  to  enter 
a  convent.  The  second  daughter,  jealous  of  the  prince  at- 
tempts to  dispose  of  her  sister.  The  latter  outwits  her  by  com- 
mitting suicide.  The  prince  now  kills  himself  for  grief  and  the 
second  daughter  takes  poison.  The  surviving  Queen  sees  the 
havoc  caused  by  her  vow. 

STRUENSEE 

By  Michel  Beer 

A  prime  minister  of  Denmark  seeks  to  spread  enlighten- 
ment in  his  kingdom.  The  Queen,  a  former  English  princess, 
favors  his  am.bition.  Jealous  members  of  the  royal  family  pro- 
cure his  arrest  and  persuade  the  Queen  to  acknowledge  his 
love  for  her  under  the  false  pretense  that  this  fact  will  liberate 
the  man  she  really  admires.  This  seals  his  fate  and  he  is  con- 
demned to  death. 

THE    PARIAH. 

By  Michel  Beer 

A  widow  who  is  to  be  burned  according  to  Indian  custom 
is  rescued  by  an  outlaw,  whom  she  marries.  An  Indian  who 
becomes  infatuated  with  her,  would  kill  the  outlaw  but  she 
prevents.  The  Indian  learns  of  her  illegal  rescue,  discovers 
that  she  is  his  own  sister  and  resolves  to  have  them  both  exe- 
cuted. They  take  poison.  Touched  by  their  behaviour,  the 
brother  promises  to  care  for  their  child. 

278 


The D       R       A       M       A       T       1ST 

THE    LILY. 

By  David  Belasco. 
A  woman  of  the  upper  classes  has  wasted  youth,  love,  and 
happiness  because  of  her  father's  class  prejudice.  When  she 
beholds  her  younger  sister  about  to  be  sacrificed  in  the  same 
fashion  she  solemnly  protests.  In  a  fierce  outburst  of  passion 
she  turns  upon  her  father  and  demands  for  her  sister  the  privi- 
lege of  love  as  a  birthright. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GRIMM. 
By  David  Belasco. 
A  man  betroths  his  ward  to  his  nephev/  in  order  to  perpetu- 
ate the  family  name.  After  death  he  learns  of  the  young  man's 
dissolute  character  from  inhabitants  of  the  spirit  world  and  re- 
turns to  right  the  wrong  committed.  In  pathetic  helplessness 
his  suffering  spirit  strives  to  communicate  this  fact  to  his 
ward.  He  finally  succeeds  in  apprising  her  of  his  mistake 
through  the  medium  of  a  child — the  illicit  offspring  of  his 
nephew.  The  ward  is  governed  by  his  supernatural  message 
and  is  united  to  the  man  she  loves. 

ARTICLE  47. 
By  Adolphe  Belot 
An  imperceptible  mulatto  is  loved  by  a  white  man  and  at- 
tempts to  leave  him  when  her  negro  blood  is  in  danger  of  de- 
tection. Crazed  by  jealousy  he  shoots  her  and  is  imprisoned 
for  five  years.  According  to  Article  47  he  remains  under  po- 
lice surveillance.  He  escapes,  assum.es  another  name  and  mar- 
ries happily.  The  mulatto  has  searched  for  him  in  vain.  She 
finally  discovers  him  and  divulges  his  past,  but  the  wife's  love 
conquers.    The  negress  goes  hopelessly  insane. 

A    COMEDY 

By  Jules  Roderich  Benedir 
A  bachelor  inherits  a  fortune  and  seeks  the  hand  of  his 
landlady's  daughter.  She  hesitates  and  he  ventures  to  propose 
to  a  second  fyirl  who  also  postpones  an  ansvv'er,  for  she  loves 
some  one  else.  He  engages  himself  to  the  first  when  he  sud- 
denly discovers  a  third  girl  whom  he  really  loves.  All  three 
girls  celebrate  their  betrothal  to  him.  Love  claims  the  other 
two  and  he  is  left  to  his  third  and  best  choice. 

CINDERELLA 
By  Jules  Roderich  Benedir 
A  child,  deserted  in  a  boarding  school,  has  been  reared  as  a 
servant.  She  meets  a  count  incog,  who  falls  in  love  with  her. 
Later  she  is  compelled  to  run  away  and  in  an  exhausted  condi- 
tion is  brought  to  the  count's  castle  where  she  is  discovered 
to  be  his  uncle's  natural  daughter.  The  count  is  convinced 
that  she  loves  him  for  himself  alone  and  they  are  betrothed. 

279 


The  DRAMATIST 

SAMSON. 
By  Henri  Bernstein. 
A  dock  laborer  of  rare  mental  vigor  makes  a  large  fortune 
in  stocks  and  weds  a  society  beauty.  A  man  tries  to  win  her 
affections  and  the  husband  engages  in  a  financial  battle  to  de- 
feat him.  By  clever  stock  manipulations  he  ruins  his  rival 
even  though  he  wrecks  his  own  fortune  in  the  attempt. 

ISRAEL. 
By  Henri  Bernstein. 

A  young  aristocrat  insults  a  dignified  old  Jewish  banker 
wishing  to  involve  him  in  a  duel.  The  Jew  applies  to  the 
youth's  mother  who  in  turn  beseeches  her  son  not  to  press  the 
quarrel.  In  a  gruelling  cross-examination  the  boy  follows  up 
the  motive  of  this  strange  request  until  at  last  he  wrings  from 
her  the  confession  that  the  banker  is  his  illegitimate  father. 
Despite  the  latter's  attempt  to  reconcile  him  to  his  fate  the  boy 
commite  suicide. 

Z  AZA. 
By  Berton. 

An  actress  falls  in  love  with  a  man  and  lives  happily  with 
him  until  he  tires  of  her.  She  hears  that  he  is  married  and  con- 
firms this  fact  by  a  visit  to  his  family.  She  pretends  that  she 
has  exposed  his  infidelity.  He  condemns  her.  Later  they 
meet.  She  has  risen  to  great  fame  and  he  is  free  to  marry  her. 
She  still  loves  him  but  has  been  too  cruelly  deceived  and  bids 
him  adieu. 

MADAME    X 
By  Alexander  Bisson 

A  drug-drenched  woman  murders  her  paramour  to  avoid 
his  revealing  her  identity  to  her  son.  An  advocate  is  appointed 
to  defend  her.  Upon  announcement  of  his  name  the  woman 
shrieks.  She  realizes  it  is  her  son.  He  believes  his  mother 
dead.  He  makes  an  eloquent  plea  for  the  life  of  his  client  in- 
terpreting her  obstinate  silence  as  a  desire  to  shelter  some  in- 
nocent person  whom  she  loves — a  son,  perhaps.  Only  the 
woman  and  audience  know  the  truth.  She  is  acquitted.  She 
dies  in  the  arms  of  her  advocate  acknowledging  her  maternal 
relation  to  him. 

A    GAUNTLET 
By  Bjornson 

A  girl  reared  in  innocence,  is  betrothed  to  a  man  of  the 
world.  Each  fancies  that  no  predecessor  has  won  the  other's 
affection.  When  she  learns  of  a  compromising  intrigue  in  her 
lover's  past  she  hurls  her  glove  in  his  face  and  breaks  the  en- 
gagement. She  learns  that  she  has  been  living  in  a  fool's  para- 
dise. The  man  does  penance  and  the  girl  gives  him  a  vague 
hope  of  future  reconciliation. 

280 


The  DRAMAT       I       S       T 

BEYOND  THEIR  STRENGTH 
By  Bjomson 
A  faith  healing  clergyman  lives  in  an  overstrained  ecstacy 
and  forces  his  w^ife  to  the  same  high  nervous  tension.  She  is 
finally  stricken  with  paralysis.  The  priest  determines  to  heal 
her  by  fervid  prayer.  A  tremendous  avalanche  sweeps  down 
the  mountain  but  divides  at  the  parsonage.  The  two  are  un- 
harmed. It  is  a  miracle !  The  wife  now  rises !  She  falls  upon 
her  husband's  neck  amid  great  rejoicings !  She  is  dead !  Over- 
whelmed by  the  shock  the  clergyman  falls  dead  at  her  side. 

LABOREMUS. 
By  Bjornson. 
A  poor  composer  is  captivated  by  a  girl  who  marries  a  rich 
widower.    After  marriage  her  sensuality  leads  to  an  illicit  rela- 
tion with  the  composer.     Her  step-daughter  intercepts  them 
and  the  harlot  is  unmasked. 

THE  KING. 
By  Bjornson 
A  young,  liberal  minded  king  condemns  the  sham  and 
pomp  of  his  position.  He  marries  the  daughter  of  a  prisoner 
who  earnestly  aids  in  his  mission  of  royal  regeneration.  His 
subjects  are  scandalized  at  this  union  with  their  own  sort.  The 
bride  dies  as  a  result  of  fanatic  hatred  and  a  father's  curse. 
The  king  commits  suicide  realizing  the  futility  of  his  efforts  to 
establish  a  democratic  monarchy. 

THE  NEWLY-WEDS. 
By  Bjornson 
A  young  lawyer  marries  the  spoiled  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
official.  Exasperated  by  her  obstinate  immaturity  he  removes 
her  from  the  pampered  influence  of  her  parents.  Her  eyes  are 
opened  by  an  anonymous  novel  reflecting  the  dangers  ahead. 
The  book  is  written  by  one  of  her  friends  who  also  awakens 
her  jealousy.  Womanhood  finally  asserts  itself  in  the  wife  and 
a  reconciliation  follows. 

TO-DAY  AND  YESTERDAY. 
By  Oscar  Blumenthal. 
A  woman  marries  a  widower  whom  she  does  not  love.  She 
becomes  easy  prey  for  a  seducer  and  afterwards  falls  honestly 
in  love  with  her  husband.  The  seducer  meantime  reforms  and 
asks  for  the  hand  of  her  step-daughter.  To  prevent  the  match 
the  woman  divulges  their  past  but  only  succeeds  in  winning 
the  girl's  contempt.  Unable  to  confess  the  burden  on  her  soul 
to  her  husband  who  is  now  seized  with  heart  failure,  she  takes 
poison. 

a8i 


The DRAMATIS       T 

SAUCE     FOR     THE     GOOSE. 

By  Geraldine  Bonner. 
A  wife  is  piqued  at  her  husband's  flirtations  with  a  suffra- 
gette and  takes  dinner  with  an  old  admirer  to  arouse  return- 
jealousy.  The  husband  intercepts  the  tete-a-tete  and  is  ready 
to  kill  his  rival  when  the  wife  confesses  to  her  little  scheme  to 
taunt  him. 

COLLEEN  B  AWN. 
By  Dion  Boucicault. 
A  young  man  is  secretly  married  to  the  girl  he  loves.  He 
is  in  debt  and  the  only  way  to  avoid  embarrassment  is  to 
marry  an  heiress.  His  servant,  wishing  to  assist  his  master, 
tries  to  drown  the  wife.  The  husband  is  accused  of  murder 
when  the  wife  appears  to  save  him. 

LONDON  ASSURANCE. 
By  Dion  Boucicault. 
A  young  man,  facing  imprisonment  for  debt,  falls  in  love 
with  a  girl  to  whom  his  father  is  engaged.  A  brazen  young 
scapegrace  entraps  the  father  into  such  a  ridiculous  predica- 
ment, that  he  is  obliged  to  pay  his  son's  debts  and  let  him 
marry  the  young  woman. 

A  VISIT. 
By  Edward  Brandes. 
A  girl  is  the  victim  of  a  libertine.  She  afterwards  marries 
a  socialist  who  in  reality  is  a  sensualist.  The  seducer  turns  up 
and  insults  her  in  her  husband's  home.  This  leads  to  her  hus- 
band's discovery  of  the  past  and  he  is  about  to  cast  her  off 
when  his  admiration  leads  him  to  interpret  her  behavior  as 
consistent  with  his  socialistic  theories. 

BOUGHT  AND  PAID  FOR. 
By  George  Broadhurst. 
A  financier  marries  a  telephone  girl  and  supports  her 
worthless  brother-in-law.  The  girl  leaves  her  husband  after  a 
brutal  assault,  virtually  constituting  a  rape.  In  order  to  re- 
gain his  position  the  brother-in-law  tricks  the  pair  into  a  re- 
conciliation. 

THE  LADY  OF  LYONS. 
By  Bulwer-Lytton. 
A  farmer's  son  falls  in  love  with  an  heiress  who  repels  his 
advances.  Other  rejected  suitors  conspire  to  disguise  him  as 
an  Italian  prince  to  revenge  themselves  on  the  girl.  He  mar- 
ries her  and  takes  her  to  the  farm  house  of  his  Mother  where 
he  confesses.    In  spite  of  her  broken  pride  she  loves  him,  but 

282 


The DRAMATIST 

her  parents  insist  on  separation.  The  boy  enlists  to  atone  for 
his  deception.  He  distinguishes  himself  in  battle  and  acquires 
a  fortune.  In  the  meantime  the  bride's  parents  have  become 
impoverished  and  to  save  them  she  is  about  to  marry  a  former 
suitor  whom  she  abhors.  Her  husband  returns  in  time  to  save 
her  this  fate. 

RICHELIEU. 

By  Bulwer-Lytton. 

A  Cardinal  has  condemned  to  death  a  young  daredevil  who 

is  in  love  with  his  ward.    By  aiding  to  put  down  a  conspiracy 

which  threatens  the  Cardinal's  life  the  youth  earns  his  pardon 

and  the  hand  of  the  girl. 

THE  CAVE  MAN. 
By  Gelett  Burgess. 
A  lady  of  quality  undertakes  to  polish  an  uncouth  coal- 
heaver.  She  introduces  the  transformed  ruffian  to  an  ambi- 
tious debutante  who  falls  in  love  with  him.  But  the  ex-coal- 
heaver  aspires  to  the  hand  of  his  lady  champion  and  she  finally 
awakens  to  the  real  man  she  has  developed  in  him. 


'Plots  hy  authors  of  the  letter  C,  begin  in  the 
October,  1912,  issue. 


283 


DRAMA 

VlayWriting 


Are  you  satisfied  with  the  progress  you  are  making  as  a 
pla5rwright?  Are  you  content  to  spend  the  best  years  of  your 
life  in  an  effort  to  master  dramatic  composition?  Are  you  con- 
tent to  continue  in  the  bitter  and  gruelling  school  of  experience 
of  the  "try,  try  again" — hit  or  miss  theory?  Or  are  you  willing 
to  take  a  short  cut  to  the  mastery  of  your  Art  ? 

The  majority  of  Authors  who  arrive  on  the  Metropolitan 
stage  bring  with  them  the  history  of  fifteen  to  twenty  years' 
hard  struggle  with  the  mysteries  of  the  Craft.  This  has  been 
the  case  with  Fitch,  Thomas,  Pinero,  Shaw  and  Walter.  It  is 
this  long  period  of  helpless  preparation  that  the  Institute  of 
the  Drama  is  designed  to  avert. 

Let  us  tell  you  of  the  invaluable  service  the  Institute  ren- 
ders the  aspiring  Playwright — how  we  help  develop  the  abili- 
ties and  possibilities  of  the  young  Dramatist — how  we  perfect 
a  play  into  scientific  and  saleable  form — and  how  you  may  add 
to  your  fund  of  practical  information,  knowledge  that  you  can 
apply  to  the  very  play  you  are  building — knowledge  that  will 
place  you  years  in  advance  of  your  normal  development  as  a 
Dramatist. 

USE    THIS    COUPON 

(Cut  out  and  Mail.) 


Institute  of  the  Drama, 

Easton,  Penna. 

Gentlemen : 

Kindly  send  me  your  prospectus  of  Correspondence  in  Sci- 
entific Playwriting  and  Collaboration, 

Name 

Street   

City 

State  

(Please  write  Plainly.) 

284 


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